


The Hazards of Love

by whereismygarden



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Childbirth, F/M, Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-22
Updated: 2014-02-12
Packaged: 2017-12-09 04:17:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 34,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/769885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whereismygarden/pseuds/whereismygarden
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Her child might have neither father nor grandfather, but she could make sure it had the love it deserved." Belle is with child when she is cast out of the Dark Castle.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Learn Soon Enough

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was heavily influenced by the Decemberists' lovely album "Hazards of Love," which is where I got the title. Chapter titles will likely come from the lyrics, as well.

     Belle wasn’t sure whom she should speak to. Her father was the obvious choice, who loved her and had nearly collapsed from relief at her return. But coming “home,” to this place that no longer felt right to her, had not been her first choice. She had sought the forest and mountains, liking her month of freedom and adventure: her new-made friends and the new sights. They were wondrous: grey hills and deep blue pools that left her feeling as if her broken heart had been soothed.

    If life had taught her anything, it was that good things did not last, and she had been defeated by nothing more than her own clumsiness, a fall from a slick rock and a badly broken arm. Luckily or unluckily, she had been close to the place she had called home for so long, and she did miss her father and friends.

    They had welcomed her with open arms and comforting words, though uneasy faces, at times. She had spoken a few short words about arguing with Rumpelstiltskin and his casting her out. Now, though, everything was so much more complicated. She wished to simply sit in her room, by the white curtains, and read, and she wished to be in the forest with knife and book, and she wished to be back in the Dark Castle, pouring tea. She could have none of them, though, so maybe it was better not to wish.

    Best to start simply. She dressed for the day, in a simple brown dress and boots, and walked to the house of the town’s herb-woman. Mistress Cevan’s home was as she remembered from childhood, low and dark, rafters hung with a mixture of cooking and healing herbs. The similarities comforted her: she felt so different in her skin these days, no longer the lady she had been, no longer the housekeeper, no longer the adventurer.

   “Good morning, Belle.” Mistress Cevan was a small, sturdy woman: her face more lined and hair whiter than last Belle had seen her, but she still walked with a straight back, and her green eyes were clear and sharp. “What brings you here?” Belle shifted uneasily and twisted her hands. She felt cold all over and sick: this was no easy thing to say. Mistress Cevan perhaps sensed her distress and placed her rough, strong hand over Belle’s now-callused one. “Don’t worry, my dear. You can tell me anything.” Belle nodded, clutching her hand, and blurted out her worry in a gasp.

    “I haven’t bled in nearly two months,” she confessed, then buried her face in her hands, wondering what the older woman would say. Mistress Cevan sighed and wrapped an arm around Belle’s shoulders.

    “Oh, child…” she guided Belle to sit down and offered her a cup of water, which Belle sipped at shakily.

    “And I’m sick often, and I feel weak.”

    “Is this something from your traveling back to us, or earlier?” Belle could hear no scorn in the other’s voice, no contempt, and was glad for her tactful way of asking _when,_ and _who._

    “Earlier,” she said, in a small voice. Mistress Cevan frowned, and gathered her shawl tighter around her shoulders.

    “I hope you gave him a bloody nose for his trouble, girl,” she said in a choked voice, pity in her eyes, and Belle wasn’t sure if she wanted to laugh or throw up. Which was worse, being raped by a monster or going willingly to his bed? She shook her head.

   “No, no, it was…he didn’t force me,” she managed. That wasn’t sufficient explanation, but some of the tightness went out of Mistress Cevan’s shoulders.

    “Well, then, that doesn’t make this any easier, does it?” Belle shook her head dumbly. “Belle, I’m not here to sneer at your heart or your desires, even if I can’t understand your choice, all right?” Belle nodded tightly, jaw aching, and then was suddenly weeping in the herb-woman’s arms, sobbing into her shoulder, letting all the hurt she had been holding since he had thrown her out of the dungeon escape her in sobs that were half tears, half screams. Mistress Cevan only wrapped her arms around Belle, letting her muffle her crying against her shawl.

    “He, he said he d-didn’t love me,” Belle choked out, and the other woman stroked her hair, making shushing sounds, rocking her gently.

    Mistress Cevan made her drink a chamomile tonic, to calm what was becoming hysterics.

    “Belle, I can take this away from you, if you truly wish, but I do not want to. It’s a harsh business.” Belle shook her head, lips pressed tight. She could not say she wanted the child, but she could not cast it aside, either.

    “There are herbs, then, to take, and foods you must eat, for your health and the babe’s. But you must decide what to tell your father.” Belle knew. Trying to hide it would be impossible: the only reason none of the castle women had noticed yet was that they had been giving her a wide berth, half-frightened of her.

    “Yes, I know. I’m just not ready.”

    She waited a long time; perhaps too long. She spent much of her time sitting on a bench in the garden, reading, trying not to think about what she must say, and what she would have to do. There would be no more lying: she’d had enough lies from Rumpelstiltskin’s lips that she was half certain she would never lie again.

    Finally, cursing her own reticence and fear, two weeks after she spoke with Mistress Cevan, she knocked on the door of her father’s study, heart hammering. She had been ill earlier that morning, and she knew that one of the maids suspected her condition. She had to be the one to say it.

    “Enter,” he said, and smiled when he saw her. “Belle.” His whole face softened at the sight of her, and Belle wondered if he was about to destroy the image of who he thought his daughter was. “I haven’t been seeing enough of you, my girl.” Belle smiled weakly. Better to get it over with right away, and she could not keep her voice from shaking as she spoke.

    “Papa—I’m with child.” She said it simply, hands clasped in front of her, and watched his face go from confused to white with rage in the space of a few seconds. He picked up his inkwell with shaking hands and smashed it against the wall, mouth twitching, then put his hands over his face, much as Belle had done. His posture was stricken, and he seemed unable to move towards his daughter, only looking up at her with helpless eyes.

    “It’s all my fault, Belle. I never should have let him take you away. That _monster_ —“ He was trapped between grief and rage, and that only made Belle feel worse.

     “Papa, listen.” It twisted her stomach to confess, knowing his disapproval would follow, but truth mattered. “I chose to go with him. You didn’t ‘let’ him. And—“ Her tongue tried to tie itself up, but she pressed on. “I went to bed with him of my own choice. He never forced me—I love him.”

     Her father only shook his head, looking sick.

    “No, Belle, he must have bespelled you. You’re confused.”

    “I’m not!” she snapped, irritated at his denial. He shuffled papers on his desk, hands still shaking.

    “Belle, please. You’re not some demon’s whore, my girl.” To her disgust, Belle started to tear up, but she swallowed and forced the tears away, unsure if they came from anger or grief.

    “Listen to me! I’m telling the truth!” Belle looked wildly around the study, unable to focus on her father’s face. The study had once been such a comforting place, with its wooden walls and rug. She had spent time here as a girl, with a doll or a small book, to be in her father’s presence even when he was busy. Now, though, it felt as though the walls were shattering like a breaking mirror around her.

    “ _My daughter_ wouldn’t _fuck_ a _monster_ ,” he half-snarled at her, and Belle flinched away from his crude words. “And you’re not bearing a demon’s child.” Belle shook her head, wondering desperately why _love_ kept doing this to her—casting her out, seeing only the worst of her.

    “He’s not a monster,” she said fiercely, eyes blurring finally with tears, and that was true. “And it’s _my_ child.” Her father shook his head, and Belle realized, with a rush of nausea that had nothing to do with pregnancy, that she was already dead to him. He couldn’t reconcile the daughter he loved with a woman who would make love to a monster.

    “Get out, then,” he ordered, shaking, half-crying, and for a second, she was standing in a cell, with a different man, who stood stiffly as he bade her leave. She knew how this went.

    “I’m still me,” she said, voice cold: colder than last time, because this was a second heartbreak, and a different kind, and she knew how this went. “Still your daughter, and you’re making a mistake, because you can’t imagine that I could give up my innocence of my own will!”

    She packed hastily, trying to find her roomiest dresses, those which could be laced loosely to allow for the swelling of her waistline. It wouldn’t be long, she was sure. Her maid from childhood half-clung to her arm, which was no longer tender and splinted, and tried to dissuade her from leaving. Belle ordered her out rather rudely after a few minutes as she tried to decide between a length of cord and a portion of cloth. The castle’s no-nonsense steward barged into her room a while later, and Belle glared at him, prepared to have to wrestle him out of the way.

    “Peace,” he said, and handed her a waterproofed pack. “I won’t send you out again without something.” Belle took it with a nod and a few surprised tears.

    “Thank you. I thought you were here to stop me.” He frowned gravely.

    “Your father would prefer it, no doubt, but I don’t think you should be a prisoner here anymore than you should with _him._ ” Belle wondered if he knew that she was pregnant, or if he would be so kind if he knew it was the Dark One’s child she carried.

    Half the castle shrunk away, and most of the rest looked ready to sneer or spit, but there were a few kindnesses, enough to tell her that her once-home was full of people mostly confused and scared, not bad-hearted.

    She was a little better prepared this time, going out in her leather jerkin and with a heavy cloak and pack. She would have to be careful this time, now that she knew, but the woods had welcomed her once, and they would again. Her child might have neither father nor grandfather, but she could make sure it had the love it deserved, a life free from whispers about demons. She could be a war widow to anyone she met, and if they didn’t believe her, better to be called a runaway foreigner’s bastard than Rumpelstiltskin’s offspring.

    Summer was in full swing, and the woods were warm, full of greenery and life: Belle could hear small things rustling as she passed, and smell the rich scent of fruit and flowers. She kept one hand firmly on the walking staff she had procured from one of the guardsmen—he’d also given her a better canteen than the one she had picked up on her travels—and let the other rest over her stomach, still flat. The brown-leafed path stretched out before her.


	2. Boughs and Thistle Down

The summer woods were the most forgiving place Belle could have ended up, she knew, and so were their people. After two days of walking and sleeping on the chilly forest floor, she stumbled upon a small house, with children playing outside. At first she was uncertain about moving forward, in her dirty cloak and with her undoubtedly dusty face. But it was nearly sundown, and she simply wanted a floor to sleep on instead of the ground.

                “Excuse me,” she called, standing at the edge of the clearing. The children jumped, startled, and turned to look at her. The girl child, who looked older, swung her long braids over her shoulder and took a few cautious steps towards Belle.

                “Are you a fairy?” she asked, a slight note of wonder in her voice. Belle looked at the wooden staff in her hands and her once-fine green cloak and laughed slightly. In the late-afternoon light, the girl likely couldn’t make out her very human features.

                “No, I’m just a traveler,” she replied, and stepped forward herself, out of the woods. “I can wait here for your mama or papa.”

                “That sounds good,” the girl said authoritatively. “Hansel, go get Father.” The boy scampered off. Belle smiled, trying to put the girl at ease, and didn’t move.

                “My name’s Belle.” Perhaps a false name would have been better, but she wanted to tell the girl the truth.

                “I’m Gretel,” the girl replied. They stood in silence for a few minutes, then Belle heard the rustling of leaves, and the boy Hansel reappeared, followed by a broad man carrying an axe. He had a kind face, Belle thought, but she recognized a father’s worry upon it, and for a brief moment, she wondered if she would feel the same kind of worry.

                “Good evening,” she called out, trying to show him she was naught to fear.

                “Evening,” he returned. “Are you lost?” He offered his hand to shake and Belle took it, glad he wasn’t over-wary of her. Of course, she hardly cut an imposing figure, and she was a small woman.

                “Not exactly. I’m a traveler. My name’s Belle.”

                “I’m Michael—I’m a woodcutter. Where are you headed?” His eyes were soft and genuinely caring, his questions not aggressive.

                “Just somewhere new and safe. More of a wanderer than a traveler, I suppose.” Michael nodded his head.

                “Let me take your pack, Belle. You’re welcome to stay here as long as you need to. We don’t mind, do we?” His children shook their heads shyly and Belle followed them into the little house.

                They ate a simple dinner around a surprisingly elegant table: a pot of long-cooked stew broiled into a meaty, greens-filled pudding over the open fire. Belle contributed a bit of dried fruit from her pack: her food was running low, but she knew enough about the region to set a few snares and find the right kind of plants. Hansel and Gretel overcame their shyness gradually and pestered her with questions about her travels and anything she had seen in the world. Belle told them about the cursed Prince Philip and his and Mulan’s journey to find Aurora.

                “Did they find the princess?” Gretel asked eagerly, scraping the bottom of her bowl and looking at Belle with shining eyes. Belle put her hands up.

                “I don’t know, I’m afraid. I haven’t seen him. But I like to think that true love will win out, don’t you?” Gretel nodded her agreement and Belle forced her thoughts away from true love and all the ways it could fail.

                The children went to bed after supper, and Michael offered her a chair by the fire after they washed up. Like nearly everything else in the house, it was wooden, and expertly made.

                “Thank you for this,” Belle said quietly.

                “No, thank you. These woods don’t have many people in them, and Gretel and Hansel get lonely. I lost their mother years ago.”

                “I’m sorry,” Belle said. “I never had a mother, either.” Michael nodded, smiling sadly.

                “I’m trying.” He shifted in his chair. “Now, it’s none of my business, but what brings you through here? It’s a lonely place.”

                “I need a new start, on my own. I’ll have a child, later, and it needs someplace…better than where I was.” The woodcutter nodded gravely.

                “I understand wanting the best for your child. Stay as long as you need.”

                Belle did not stay long at all, but decided to make her new home about two days’ walk from where they lived. Maybe it would have been a wiser choice to stay indefinitely, but she couldn’t do it. She wasn’t ready to be a mother to her own child: she couldn’t do it for someone else. Solitude was what she needed, and space.

                The forest was beautiful, with clearings full of berry bushes and streams full of bulrushes. A strangling snare set occasionally caught rabbits and squirrels, and she slowly constructed a shelter with tree limbs and the aid of a sloping rock formation.

                Rushes and branches weren’t the most comfortable bed, but that was nothing new. If she cried herself to sleep the nights when she wasn’t too exhausted to drop off immediately, that was nothing new either.

                At first, she worried she would starve herself and the baby by not eating enough, but by the time the blackberries ripened, she was putting on weight in her belly and losing it from her face. The baby would take care of itself, it seemed.

                She divided her time between making her shelter and storing food. Michael came by occasionally to help her, and brought her wood. He seemed worried that she would strain herself by hauling around branches, and while Belle was certain she was fine for now, eventually she would have to worry.

                She dried meat and fruit and buried roots, and daubed the wooden part of her half-cave, half-hut with mud.

                Gretel and Hansel were charmed with the idea that she had a baby growing in her belly, and she promised to visit them often in the winter, so that they could see it grow. She suspected Michael would want her to stay for the winter, for her own safety, and could not fail to appreciate his concern.

                Having only a father themselves, the children did not seem curious about how she could have a child that was solely hers, and for his part, Michael never asked her anything beyond whether the father was alive.

                “Yes, I don’t doubt that he is,” she’d replied, rather shortly: the late-summer heat had her sticky with sweat and irritable. He’d looked like he wanted to say something: likely a platitude about fathers wanting to know their children. “He’s made it quite clear I’m not welcome back.”

                Belle was not exactly happy in her new life, but she was too busy to dwell on it much, and her occasional visits with Michael and the children were showing her hard it would be to mother her child. Whenever he or she was born, though, she would have someone to love who wouldn’t push her love away. It was hard and painful to love Rumpelstiltskin, with his barely-covered cruelty and his denial of his humanity, but it would be easy to love her child. A baby would cry and fuss and leave her tired and ill, but it would love her, and Belle needed to love and be loved.

                Summer gave way to autumn, a slow surrender of green to yellow, and of blossom to seed. Belle plucked the blackberry bushes clean, staining her fingers red, and gathered acorns to boil, grind, and dry. Her cache of winter food was growing quickly, and she felt better about her chances.

                One cool evening, Belle was walking along a path she had worn from her shelter to the stream, basket full of cress on her arm, when she heard footsteps ahead.

                “Hello?” she called out. “Michael, is that you?” She heard a quiet chuckle.

                “Oh no, love,” someone said, and Belle saw a stocky figure in a dark coat step onto the path in front of her.

                “Good evening,” Belle said. “Are you lost?” The man stepped forward, and Belle saw, with a sick twist of fear in her stomach, that he had a long knife in his hand.

                “Are you?” He lunged forward, closing the remaining gap between them. Belle flung her basket at his face, but he managed to grab her wrist with his free hand, and he twisted it behind her back, dragging her close to him and pressing his knife against her throat. Belle gasped, not daring to struggle too much, her heart pounding.

                A violet light shone through the trees, hovering at head height, and Belle realized someone else, also clad in black, was approaching them.

                “Well done,” an amused, self-satisfied voice announced. The man holding Belle shifted angrily.

                “What’s the point of this, exactly?” he snarled. The owner of the voice and light was close enough to see now, and Belle gasped in recognition.

                “Hello, dear,” the queen said cruelly. She flicked her eyes up and down over Belle. “Oh, my... well, you’re in trouble, aren’t you? I didn’t know I was being literal when I said he was your lover.” She smirked, pleased. “Another ace in the hole against the Spinner.”

                “Let me go,” Belle ordered. “I’m going to be missed here, you won’t get away with this.” The queen smiled and tilted her head.

                “Oh, you silly girl, it doesn’t matter. Your charcoal-burning and tree-felling friends won’t be able to do a thing about it.”

                “Why are you doing this?” Belle asked, as the man pulled her down the path, back toward the stream. The sun had set, and the very last of its light was fading. The queen’s magical light was necessary, now.

                “I need power,” the queen said, in a bored tone, examining a nail. Then she looked up and smiled a sharp, insincere smile, that made Belle put a hand over her belly, out of some instinct to protect. “And I think ripping the last shred of hope from the Dark One’s heart is going to be rather enjoyable, as well.”

                “I’ll never stop fighting for him!” Belle shouted, even as the man bundled her into the back of a cart that was more like a cage.

                “Why bother?” The queen asked her, feigning nonchalance, but her eyes were sharp, and Belle felt she truly wanted an answer.

                “Because his heart is _true!_ ” she spat back, and that was the truth as well. He might be afraid of it, in denial of her love, but it was. True love’s kiss didn’t lie: the woman standing in front of her had told her that.

                “Oh, dear,” the queen’s face was pitying, but it was a poor, gloating mockery of the real pity she had received at home, and Belle couldn’t decide which hurt worse. “If it was, would he abandon the mother of his child?”

                She flicked her fingers, and Belle coughed at the dark smoke that swirled into her face, blinking against the sting, and she fell backwards onto the wooden floor of the cart as her vision blurred and narrowed, the queen’s sneering laugh echoing in her ears.


	3. Fortress Walls

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The end of this chapter contains a childbirth scene: I don't think it's gruesome at all, but if that frightens you, take note.

Belle awoke on a thin pallet laid on a stone floor, head sore. She struggled to sit up, feeling dizzy and nauseous, then leaned over and threw up. She was in a bare grey room, with a wide doorless opening that made it feel more like an alcove tucked into the side of the hallway. She had neither a cup of water nor a piece of bread to consume, and her head felt as though ten small woodpeckers sat inside her skull, hammering away.

                Something clicked against the floor behind her, and she turned to see a hulking grey wolf standing calmly in the room, staring at her with unblinking yellow eyes. She shrieked, scrambling away from it, looking around for something to use as a weapon, but the area around her was bare: not a pebble or a splinter or a speck of dust. She huddled back against the wall, drawing up her knees to form some sort of barrier. The wolf settled onto its haunches, tilted its head, and whined uneasily at her outburst.

                Footsteps sounded, and the wolf turned its head. Belle wanted to get to her feet, look bigger, more threatening, but her limbs still felt weak and trembling, and her head pounded. A young man, dressed in leather and fur, with a long knife hanging at his belt, appeared in the doorway and patted the wolf on the head.

                “She won’t hurt you,” he said, voice rough. He looked uncomfortable at the sight of her crouching on the floor, and brandished a flask at her. “Water,” he said. “I have some food as well.” Belle took the flask and sipped cautiously. Her mouth was dry, but her stomach rolled, so after a few small sips, she offered it back.

                “Where am I?” she asked hoarsely. He handed her a strip of dried meat.

                “The Queen’s palace,” he answered. Belle nodded, nibbling at the jerky.

                “And who are you? My jailer?” He folded his arms and didn’t smile. Belle thought his eyes were curiously blank, as though he was simply going through the motions of checking on her. He wasn’t cruel or rough, like some guards could be, but he wasn’t kind or comforting either.

                “I’m the Queen’s huntsman.” His eyes _did_ soften when he looked at the wolf, who divided her attention between the Huntsman and Belle. “She thinks of you like a wild thing she has captured.”

                “That’s why you’re here to look after me.” Belle guessed. He shrugged, crouching so he was on eye level with her.

                “It’s too bad that you’ve been brought here.” He tilted his head, rather like his wolf. “Were you in the woods in the southeast of our land?” Belle frowned.

                “How can you tell?” He tapped his nose, almost smiling.

                “I’m more a wolf than a man in some ways.” He held out his hand, and Belle wasn’t sure what he expected her to do. “She wants you in a room with a lockable door.”

                The room in question was windowless, which made Belle want to cry, but it had a proper bed, fixed to the floor, and a small table, no doubt for eating. The Huntsman had the key at his belt and locked the door, leaving her on the bed. He’d had to half-carry her there, she was still so weak, but he had been careful, almost worried over the slight curve of her belly.

                Belle drifted off to sleep, huddling under the blankets in her cell, and didn’t wake for a while.

                The Queen did not come to see her: she had what she wanted, Belle reasoned, so there was no reason for her to come. A rather shaky young girl, maybe seventeen, was the next person to open the door to her cell. She held a tray with bread, meat, and vegetables, as well as a cup of milk, and carried a dress draped over her arm.

                “Good evening,” she addressed Belle, in a trembling voice, as though she expected her head to be ripped off at any moment. “Here’s your supper.” She deposited the tray on the table, put the dress gingerly on the bed, and practically fled the room, before ‘thank you’ could even pass Belle’s lips.

                The girl’s behavior was odd, but Belle put it down to being a servant in the Queen’s employ, and enjoyed her food. The dress was blue, with a wide stomach, intentionally cut for a woman with child.

                The same girl returned to bring her a breakfast of porridge and an apple, and Belle smiled at her.

                “Good morning,” she said, in the most soothing voice she could muster. The girl blinked at her.

                “Good morning, my lady,” she croaked, edging towards the door.

                “My name’s Belle.” Why was the girl so skittish? Belle was a prisoner, and a pregnant one at that. “Thank you for caring for me.” That was a reach, but the terror in the maid’s eyes was diminishing.

                “I’m Elodie,” the girl replied. She paused in her quest for the door. “Do- do you do the same thing with magic as the Queen?” Belle could only gape at the question.

                “I don’t do any magic at all,” she responded, after a long, incredulous stare. Elodie blushed, jumped, and relaxed almost completely.

                “Oh! I thought—never mind.” Belle held her hand up.

                “Would you tell me why you thought that?” Did the _Queen_ think that she was some kind of witch? She couldn’t, she had no reason to think that.

                “There’s all sorts of magical writing on your door, Lady Belle. Her Majesty’s put it there. I thought it was to keep you from breaking out.” Belle frowned, a small, frustrated hiss escaping her lips. No doubt the wards were to keep Rumpelstiltskin from seeing her with _his_ magic. She wondered what, exactly, the Queen had told him about her fate, or if the wards were just in case he became bored, wondered what had happened to his maid.

                “No,” she said, shaking her head, fighting back a sob. “I expect it’s to keep someone from finding me with magic.”

                “Oh,” Elodie said softly, and it seemed her terror was overcome, because she sat down next to Belle and put an arm around her shoulders. She was a good deal taller than Belle, though she had seemed small in her fright, and her arm was strong. “Why don’t you tell me about your baby?” Belle could hear the hunger of a girl who wished for her own child in Elodie’s voice, masked with concern and the remnants of fear, and she smiled.

                “It won’t be born for months, I don’t think,” Belle said. “I haven’t felt a kick yet.” She placed her hand over her belly, rubbing gently. “When it does, I will tell you.” Elodie’s face lit up, and she smiled shyly.

                “Well, my lady,” she said, standing. “Don’t worry about me, worry about the baby. You should walk around, stay strong.”

                It was sound advice, and Belle came to welcome Elodie’s thrice-daily visits with food and water. The girl was full of local knowledge about childbearing, and shared with her foods and herbs that she promised would help her and the child grow strong.

                “You’ll curse the father’s name for your pain, my mother says. She cursed my father with every birth, she said, and struck him in the midst of it.” Elodie seemed intimidated by this knowledge. Belle thought it best to refrain from calling out her lover’s name, since he had a knack for hearing it. “I want children, but I don’t want to be in pain bearing them, or lying with a man.” Belle grinned at this, because that was the most oblique way she had ever heard of asking what it was like to make love.

                “Oh, it’s not pain, at least it shouldn’t be. Don’t you worry about that part of it: that’s easy, and it feels good.” Elodie flushed and left her with another tip, to eat walnuts, and said she would bring some, then walked away stiffly.

 The Huntsman came sometimes, looped a charm of some kind around her neck, and walked her down the hallways and occasionally through the courtyards of the palace. He usually had a wolf at his heels, and the other servants gave him a wide berth. He was an unhappy man, and rarely spoke, but in the late fall, when Belle began to feel the kicks of her child more strongly, his she-wolf nuzzled her hand during the walk, and the next day he brought her a piece of dripping, still-warm meat, the blood sliding over his fingers.

                “You need the life of the blood. The Queen feeds you meat with the blood cooked out, brown and dry.” Belle had never heard of such a thing, but she accepted it anyway, and it tasted good, despite her initial disgust. His face was stoic, but his eyes rested softly on her stomach. “Feed the mother, feed the cub.” Belle wasn’t sure how to take his calling her child a cub, but eventually decided it was a compliment. He had no love for human beings.

                She sang sometimes, to her baby, little songs she remembered from home, or ballads she had heard during her travels. She had no one else to talk to, most of the time, and so she told it stories as well, old tales, new ones pulled from her head, true stories. Sometimes she whispered to it about its father or grandfather, about how maybe—one day—they would be able to offer a hug or a smile.

                Elodie told her the weather in the mornings, and maybe once a week she could see the sky, on her walk with the Huntsman. She missed her forest, the trees that folded around her like guardians, the plants that fed her, and her friends. Michael and his children would have found her shelter empty, all her things left behind, and they would assume the worst. Maybe they would look for her, or her body, but they wouldn’t find anything.

                She was resolved not to cry herself to sleep at night, in this hostile place, and she didn’t. Sometimes her throat would tighten, or her eyes burn, but she forced it back, and so when the Queen finally did come to see her, when her belly was huge and she could hear the winter winds howling even in her cell, she stayed calm.

                “Well, you’re looking no worse than when I found you.” Her voice was as smoothly cruel as ever, and Belle disliked the way the Queen looked at her. “It’ll be soon, then.”

                “Stay away from my baby, you hear me?” Belle said fiercely. The idea of the evil woman, with her cold voice and chilly hands, being anywhere near her child made her blood turn cold. The Queen smiled thinly.

                “Oh, I don’t need it, not now. You’re both just a final card to play. I’ve no intention of fighting the mother lioness.” She swept away, leaving Belle feeling powerless, and unsafe. She had let herself relax too much, with Elodie and the Huntsman to keep her company. She had forgotten, at some moments, who ruled the palace.

                She woke in the night some weeks later, with her dress and bedclothes wet and her body aching. She stumbled out of bed, trying to recall all she had heard from Elodie and from women at home regarding childbirth. She had long hours before anything would properly happen: when Elodie came in the morning, that would have to do. Giving birth was tiring business: she should sleep.

                After a few minutes of trying, it became obvious that sleep wasn’t an option. Every so often, her lower body would contract, and Belle knew this must be her body opening up, slowly, for the baby. She wished desperately for Mistress Cevan’s wise hands, or her father’s caring face, but most of all, even after everything, she wanted Rumpelstiltskin’s arms to brace her, his voice to soothe her.

                Elodie came when Belle had been awake for only a little over an hour, and nearly dropped her tray on the floor when Belle sat up and informed her, a little note of panic in her voice, that it was time for the baby to come.

                “Oh, oh,” Elodie pressed her hands to her lips and her face creased in worry. “Eat for now, Belle, I shall go and fetch someone.” She ran out of the room, leaving the door open. Belle spooned a bit of porridge into her mouth and breathed deeply. The local midwife would come, and then there would be no need to worry.

                The next person to step into her cell, however, was the Huntsman, followed by his wolf, and looking grim.

                “There is a blizzard: no one can come from town.” Belle gasped and felt tears prick her eyes. “Elodie and I will take care of you.” Elodie appeared a moment later, carrying a small coal brazier in one hand and a pot of water in the other.

                “Belle, the midwife’s not here!” she wailed, and the Huntsman impatiently took the fire and pot, setting them up to heat the water.

                “Fetch towels and then clean rushes or straw,” he ordered Elodie, rather brusquely. The maid swept off again, crying in earnest. He turned his attention to Belle. “We’ll stay with you. I’ve helped birth plenty of dogs and wolves.” Belle made a noise that was half laugh, half panicked wail, and nodded. Some court doctor poking at her would be uncomfortable and strange, but the Huntsman wouldn’t think anything odd about it. His wolf walked up to her and licked her hand, and Belle petted her head.

                The hours went by fast and slow: the pain built, and Elodie applied cold, damp cloths to her neck and face. The Huntsman spread out the rushes, rubbing her calves and feet. The wolf stayed at her side, and didn’t mind when Belle gripped her fur tightly at a contraction. Elodie was half-horrified by the Huntsman’s casual examination of her under her skirt, but he waved her away.

                “If you know what any of this signifies, you can take my place,” he said. “Have you felt the child settle?” Belle shrugged. “Push when you feel you should. It happens naturally.”

                Belle knew when it was time to push: she had been groaning for hours, and her nether regions felt stretched so tight she felt she would tear in two. The Huntsman had her squat over the rushes, and Elodie sat behind her, at his instructions, offering her hands to grip. The younger girl was much taller and stronger, so her presence, braced behind Belle, comforted her. The wolf pressed against her side, and her soft fur and quiet air calmed Belle.

                “She’s had a few litters of her own,” the Huntsman said, carefully inspecting her and wiping gently between her legs with a cloth. Elodie flinched behind her.

                Belle shouted at her first push, and gripped Elodie’s arm with one hand and the wolf with the other.

                “It’s going to be fine,” the other girl soothed. Belle snorted.       

                “Right,” she snapped, in too much pain to care that she was being rude. The baby wanted to come, but it wasn’t in any hurry to come fast.

                “First is the hardest,” the Huntsman said. “You’re doing fine.” Crouched between her legs with his hands full of bloody mucus, he was being the kindest she had ever seen him.

                “I think this will be the only,” Belle gasped out, then screamed so loudly she worried she would deafen poor Elodie.

                “I can see the head. Another few pushes.” Elodie rubbed Belle’s back at the words, adjusting her feet for better traction.

                “ _Aaaugh,”_ Belle moaned, not feeling up to even one more push. She did indeed wish to curse Rumpelstiltskin, but that wasn’t a burden of knowledge either of her unlikely friends deserved to bear. Instead she pushed, gripped Elodie’s hand, toes curling into the dry rushes, and felt a loosening. The Huntsman held his hands out, and she gave a few more pushes, each drawing a scream from her lungs, and collapsed backwards, Elodie catching her, holding her upright. Her skirts were drawn up nearly to her hips, and she could see the Huntsman clear out the babe’s mouth, blowing into its lungs.

                “Is—is?” Belle couldn’t form the words.

                “Breathing. Healthy.” The Huntsman picked up a cloth and wiped the child gently, and Belle gasped in relief to hear it squalling. “One moment.” He drew a small knife and severed the purple cord near the end, tying it off carefully. Elodie, though she was strong and still at Belle’s back, shivered squeamishly at that. “You need to push out the afterbirth.” Belle reached for the child, because the flesh in question was slipping out, falling with all the rest of the wet, bloody mess into the rushes. “A girl.”

                Belle felt as though her heart was swelling as she cradled her carefully wrapped daughter in her arms, loosening her bodice to feed her. She was so small, soft and fragile-looking, and at last she let her tears fall, smiling through them.

                “Oh, my dear,” she crooned. “It’s all right.” She stroked her daughter’s head. “Your mama’s here.” The Huntsman gathered all the dirty cloths and bloody rushes, but she noticed only in the corner of her vision. The wolf followed him out of the room, after a quick, curious sniff at the baby.

                “What’s her name?” Elodie asked in a hushed voice, helping her to lie down in the bed—at some point the girl had stripped and recovered it with clean sheets.

                “Rose,” Belle whispered, urging her daughter to suckle, stroking her head with shaking fingers. Despite her exhaustion and pain, she felt stronger with Rose in her arms, and for the first time in months, even in the cell, she was at peace. Love wrapped around the both of them, and nothing would sever it.


	4. What Irascible Blackguard

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These chapters just get longer and longer...

Elaine woke at six, as she did every morning. She realized, as she blinked up at the ceiling of her room, that it was a Saturday and there was less need than usual to rush to ready for the day. She sat up, fumbling quietly for her jeans and sweater, and dressed in the dark. Her apartment had only one bedroom, and she didn’t want to wake Rose, who was sleeping peacefully in her crib.

                She made herself oatmeal for breakfast, measuring carefully and scraping the entire pan into her bowl. There was no more brown sugar—well, she was going to the grocery store today anyway. Perhaps she could buy some, though it certainly wasn’t a necessity. Rose woke up after she finished scrubbing the dishes, and Elaine fed her carefully. She didn’t enjoy the apple and squash mixture Elaine had added to her cereal, and a great deal ended up on her chin.

                Eventually, they were ready to go, and Rose was in her stroller—a hand-me-down that had gone through several families—babbling happily as they headed to the store. The cool early spring air felt nice, though Elaine made sure to tuck Rose’s blanket around her and adjust her cap to cover her head. Her daughter was hardy and had never been sick with more than a brief case of sniffles, but she didn’t want to take any chances. Doctors’ visits cost money, as well, and she already felt like a beggar half the time anyway.

                Ruby Lucas, wearing her short skirt and tied-up blouse despite the chill, intercepted her at the curb outside Granny’s and handed her a cup of tea with a toothy smile and a coo at Rose. Elaine tried to wave it off—Ruby gave her a free drink at least once a week—but the girl was too busy rolling her eyes at her grandmother, who was delivering her a lecture from behind the counter of the diner. Somehow, every word was still heard outside.

                Elaine continued on, enjoying the tea, bitter and hot in contrast to the crisp, sweet scent of crocuses and violets pushing up through cold ground. The clock over the library was chiming: she couldn’t recall if it ever had before. Rose wasn’t disturbed by the sound, however, and waved her arms at Dr. Hopper and his large dog, coming towards them on the sidewalk.

                “Good morning, Miss French,” the doctor said—he was nervous for a psychiatrist, Elaine thought, but she had never heard a harsh word from him, so he was alright in her book.

                “Good morning,” Elaine replied, and he waved shyly at Rose, who was more interested in Pongo, his dog, who stuck his nose into the stroller and allowed Rose to tug his ear.

                And when they moved past, Elaine knew she had nearly exhausted her store of people in Storybrooke who would be cordial to her. Mary Margaret Blanchard was kind to everyone, but Elaine rarely saw her. And her benefactor: well, he was unnerving, and though Elaine trusted him, she couldn’t be sure he would always be able to help her.

                As luck would have it, the man in question was lurking in the grocery store when she walked in, and Elaine wondered if he was waiting for her.

                “Miss French, and Miss Rose,” he tipped his top hat ironically to them both, and Elaine smiled. Jefferson might have been out of his mind, but he was only kind to her. “How are you on this very special morning?”

                “Is it that special?” Elaine asked. He picked up a basket and fell into stride next to her, leaving her to push Rose along.

                “Change is in the air. I came into town to see it this morning.” He was agitated, this morning, fiddling with every little thing on the shelves as they passed.

                “You can come into town more, you know.” Elaine said softly. He shook his head, putting a bag of apples into the basket.

                “No, I can’t. I won’t be around for a while, I think. Need to get back to work.” Elaine didn’t pry: Jefferson had been in some kind of manic mourning for his missing daughter for as long as she had known him, and though she doubted the girl still lived, she couldn’t fault him for that. If anyone took Rose from her, she would go completely mad with grief. Jefferson was a recluse, but he took time out of his muttering and stitching to buy her extra groceries and baby food. He had a kind soul.

                “Well, I’ll keep a look out for the change,” was all she said, and took the basket from his hands, letting him push Rose. He smiled at this, and dangled a tassel of colored ribbons in front of her, somehow contriving to have it spin and dance in a tangle of green, red, orange, and purple. Rose laughed, smiling up at him, and Elaine put a box of macaroni and a few cans into the basket.

                “I’m paying, so get whatever you need,” he said unconcernedly, eyes fixed on Rose.

                “Jefferson…” she still felt the need to protest somewhat. “I’m not completely destitute, you know.” There was no bite in her voice, because it would be a great help.

                “And I have more money than I could ever use. I can’t have my favorite flower withering away.” He tickled Rose’s cheek with the ribbons.

                The grocer only sniffed when Jefferson stood in line behind her and wordlessly thrust his card forward, scanning it twice, as though he wouldn’t have the money. Elaine was used to his unexplained dislike, and only gathered her bags with a small nod.

                “I’ll walk home with you.” Jefferson announced, hefting the bags easily and leaving her only the stroller. “Does she like the spinach any better than before?”

                “Not really,” Elaine said. “Though I think she’s accepted it will be a part of her diet from now on.”

                “There’s the change,” Jefferson said suddenly, nodding towards someone walking across the street ahead of them. Elaine squinted: a blonde woman in a red leather jacket, walking with a purposeful stride.

                “I don’t recognize her.”

                “She’s a visitor.” Jefferson watched her closely, his wild eyes intensely focused. Elaine wasn’t sure why he was so fascinated, though this woman was the first visitor in—the first she could remember—but he rarely had reason for his actions.

                “Hmmm,” was all she said, not wanting him to start ranting in the middle of the street, and they continued towards her apartment. Her landlord, the unkempt and shady Mr. Bear, was in the lobby, scowling at his computer. When they entered, he turned his scowl to Jefferson.

                “A man gets a woman a baby, he should take care of her properly, no matter if he’s a nut.” He didn’t bother to keep his voice low, and Elaine stiffened at his words. He was always prying at her, trying to get her to say who Rose’s father was, but this was further than even he went.

                “I’m just helping my friend,” Jefferson said coolly. “And actually, I’m sure you’ll notice that Miss French and I are both blue-eyed, and so—as any _idiot_ with a basic knowledge of human anatomy should know—could never produce a brown-eyed child. Though I guess, since you can’t bother to keep your building up to code, you can’t even pass muster as an idiot.” His face went blank and shuttered when he spoke like this, as though he was looking through the person before him. Mr. Bear looked away, busying himself once more with his accounts. Jefferson had never spoken that way to Elaine, who was thankful: even witnessing the glassy, frigid look in his eyes was terrifying: as though something had cut all his humanity away.

                The look left him when he waved Rose goodbye with a gentle touch on the cheek, and Elaine realized maybe that was why he came to see her: to pull back his sanity for a few seconds, with the help of her daughter.

                “Well, he helps us, so we’ll help him,” Elaine said, lying Rose down on a cloth to change her once they were back in their apartment. “And if anyone was going to bring back someone’s goodness, it’d be you, my girl.”

                She spent the remainder of the morning playing with Rose in the lot a block away from her apartment. Her daughter gurgled with delight at the little bits of green poking through the dirt, and attempted to put a stalk of clover into her mouth.

                “No, Rose, you don’t want to do that!” Elaine pulled it from her fingers, and Rose started crying, screwing her face up and turning red. She rocked her back and forth as best as she could, singing softly and walking in circles. “ _Tell him to find me an acre of land, parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme, between the salt sea and over the strand, then he’ll be a true love of mine.”_

                “You have a pretty voice,” someone said behind, and Elaine whirled to find the stranger standing behind her. “Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you. I’m Emma Swan.” She held out her hand to shake, and Elaine took it.

                “Oh, I’m sorry!” she exclaimed, realizing too late that she had left bits of clover and dirt all over the other woman’s palm. Emma Swan just shrugged and wiped her hands on her jeans.

                “No big deal. A little dirt never hurt anyone.” She gestured at the empty lot. “I just wanted someplace to come and think: for such a small town, it’s a crowded place.”

                “I’m a bit of a loner myself, so I take Rose out here when the weather’s nice.” Elaine wasn’t exactly sure what to say to this woman, who spoke kindly but carried herself like something was about to strike her. “It’s a good place to think.”

                “Thanks.” Emma Swan didn’t offer any more conversation, simply walked on, frowning at the ground. Elaine liked that she didn’t pry: it made her more polite and understanding than most of the townspeople.

                She found herself walking back into town with Rose late in the afternoon, though her time would be better spent looking through all the papers that the miners had left her. The thought of sorting out the mine’s always-tricky finances, made harder by the fact that they kept track on scraps of paper and post-it notes in horrible scribbles, was unappealing at the moment. And she needed to consider getting some summer-weather clothes for Rose anyway, so the decision was justified.

                She spent fifteen or twenty minutes looking carefully over things in Storybrooke’s thrift shop, trying to guess how big Rose would be in a few months. The selection of baby clothes was poor, and Elaine sighed over every stained and worn piece. She knew that she couldn’t afford better, but she wanted to dress her daughter in things that at least looked clean.

                “Well, you’re going to spill on it and crawl through the dirt in it anyway, aren’t you?” Rose was alert and quiet, preoccupied with a little stuffed lion Jefferson had given her. Elaine suspected he’d made it himself, and Rose adored it, though its resemblance to any actual lion was faint. She haggled with Mrs. Schumacher, the sour old lady who ran the thrift shop and seemed related to half the town, and ended up knocking a few dollars off the price of the little dresses and outfits.

                The sky was growing dark and the temperature dropping: the sun was only a few minutes away from setting, Elaine judged, and she hurried out of the shop with Rose in one arm and the bag in her other hand. She nearly stumbled into a slight figure passing by, and stopped short at the sight of him. Mr. Gold turned sharply, no doubt ready to lash out at whoever had almost run into him, and Elaine lifted her chin to glare at him.

                She hadn’t seen him in over a year, if she remembered correctly. Sometimes she had trouble with time, especially because her stay in the hospital was hazy. The memory of their last encounter was crystal clear, though: him shouting, in a rage she had never seen before, ordering her out of his shop. The time before was no less painful in hindsight: tangled up in his bed, his mouth at her ear and hands on her back, laughing in his arms.

                “Elaine,” he said softly, looking stricken in the fading light. She looked away from his face, which looked crumpled and shocked, because he had no right to look at her like that, and stroked Rose’s head, turning back towards her apartment.

                “Good night,” she said in her coldest voice, and Rose made a startled, curious nose. Gold jerked, his hand wrapping convulsively around his cane—a nervous tic she somehow remembered—at the sound, eyes flicking to Rose.

                “Your child?” he asked in a strangled voice, studying Rose’s face with his clever eyes. Elaine nodded defiantly, gathering Rose close to her chest. “I didn’t know—“ He was still working to put it all together, and Elaine swept off down the sidewalk as fast as she could without running, knowing that he couldn’t match her with his limp.

                Damn it, how had that happened? She had avoided him for so long, then she breaks her routine _one time_ and runs into him on the sidewalk. Supper was a quiet affair, with Elaine too preoccupied to talk and reassure Rose, and for once, she was glad when Rose was tucked into bed and sleeping, because she didn’t want to even _think_ about Gold when she was around her daughter.

                He hadn’t known about Rose, somehow, even though he knew pretty much everything that happened in town. Did he think he was the father? He must, based on Rose’s age alone. Elaine cleaned up the dishes, trying to avoid crying from stress. Things hadn’t been easy for them, but they had been simple. She had her few friends, who all adored Rose, and they got along. Unofficial accountant for everyone in town who couldn’t afford a real one wasn’t the best job, but it fed them—mostly.

                Gold complicated things. He _ruined_ things, and if he wanted to push himself into their lives, he could do so easily. As far as she knew, the only people in town who knew that he was Rose’s father were herself, her father, and the mayor, who had always liked to stick her nose into Gold’s business. Apparently the snoopy woman hadn’t informed Gold about Rose’s existence, however, so perhaps she had forgotten, or didn’t care.

                No one had even guessed Gold, she didn’t think, despite the fact that she had worked for him for nearly a year, during a time that would coincide with Rose’s conception. Dr. Whale at the hospital had remarked that Rose had dark eyes for such a young child a few times: they had stayed blue only for a few weeks after her birth before turning the precise shade of Gold’s.

                The worst of it all was that she missed him, and his shop, and though Rose filled her time and her heart, sometimes the missing returned, in the early morning or when she tossed restlessly after a long day.

                Her life had been so bright and sharp, then. She had gotten the job at the age of twenty-two, after going through her father’s accounts and realizing they owed Gold a ridiculous amount of money.

                He was a hard man, spending the first few months of their acquaintance glaring at her, as if hiring an assistant had been the worst idea he’d ever had. And the way he sometimes talked to people who came in to ask for loans and favors made her cringe: he was downright cruel, even to people who wouldn’t hurt a fly. He brushed off her rebukes with a sneer, but sometimes she could pull away the armor and see the lonely man underneath.

                One day, he picked her a flower on his way to the shop: not one of the cultivated blooms her father sold, but a spray of white star-shaped blossoms growing wild on the side of the road. His face had been soft when he handed it over, with a self-mocking attempt at a bow. She had curtsied, in her jeans and tunic, and put it in a cup of water on the counter.

                She still wasn’t sure who had seduced whom. They had been sitting together, going over the papers confirming the authenticity of a piece of Revere silver, and he had been sucking on a piece of candy.

                “What, no sweets for me, your long-suffering assistant?” she joked, smiling at him. He leaned over and blew gently at her, eyes dark and playful. His breath was spicy and her skin tingled at the strange intimacy of the gesture.

                “I thought you didn’t like cinnamon?” he asked, and she only laughed, a trifle uneasily, and turned her attention back to the papers.

                Once she had put her hands on his shoulders when she leaned over him to peer at a telescope he had recently acquired, and he stiffened at the touch, and brushed her hair away from where it tickled the side of his face, running his fingers through it.

                It had progressed very slowly, after that, and Elaine was practically burning up with desire for him, unsure how to act, because he was her boss and she thought—and she was right, as it turned out—that his tender feelings might not match hers.

                He had taken the final step, after she had worked with him for ten months: simply walked up behind her one day and wrapped his arms around her waist. She hadn’t known exactly what to do, so she covered his hands with hers and let him rest his chin on her shoulder. One hand crept up to her breast and his mouth pressed softly at her neck. She fisted one hand in his long hair and guided his other hand to between her legs, trembling at the heat in his touch, her whole self unsteady.

                They’d ended up writhing on the floor in the back room, making love half-dressed and noisy, and Elaine had gone home a little late, with bite marks hidden under her sensible clothes and her hair mussed. After that, they had gone to his house, which was quiet and private and had a bed, and gotten lost in each other’s touch, night after night. She could trace his every scar in the dark, and his hands knew every line of her as well.

                Then it had all gone sour, because for all his tenderness with her, and however much he _enjoyed_ her, he was still the town’s most feared man, not without reason. She had dared to whisper to him once that she loved him, and he had lost his mind.

                He had _shaken_ her, terrified her, then collected himself enough to tell her that she was fired, and could leave, because he didn’t love her, didn’t want her, and that she didn’t love him either. That had gotten her blood up, and she had spat her fury back at him, because how _dare_ he presume to know her heart?

                Then came the realization that she was pregnant, her father’s rejection, and the hospital. Her memories of setting the fire were hazy, as was her time locked in the asylum: Rose had been born there, and she had been enough to bring Elaine back, from wherever she had been. People told her that she had insisted the fire was speaking to her, that someone was trapped inside and needed to come out, but she couldn’t remember.

                Now she was sitting weeping on the rocking chair, wrapped up in fear that he would hate her even more, that everyone in town would hate her if they found out who Rose’s father was. She could manage things when they were simple. Jefferson had talked to her about paranoia and anxiety once, in the sanest mood she had ever seen him, and reminded her that she should take things one moment at a time. She had done so. Surviving one step at a time took all her energy, and Rose took all her attention.

                Now things could be complicated, whether Gold decided he wanted his daughter—why he would, she couldn’t guess, but he was a bastard and had a cruel streak—or not, because he knew. No matter that his face looked heartbroken at the sight of them, that his voice had trembled when he spoke her name.

                She fell asleep in the chair, thoughts running in circles, trying to let the knowledge that Rose slept peacefully in the next room ease her. It did not work.


	5. Render Me A Wreck

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And still longer...

                Elaine woke up to Rose’s cries, jerking awake in the rocking chair, the movement frightening her to her feet before she remembered the events of yesterday. She had run into Gold, after successfully avoiding him for over a year, and then cried herself to sleep.

                Rose demanded attention, crying out hungrily, and Elaine gratefully pushed her worries to the back of her mind and went to tend to her daughter. They hardly stepped outside the apartment all day, Elaine going through the mine’s accounts with a careful eye and Rose content to crawl about at her feet and play with her cloth lion. Elaine opened a few windows to let in the fresh air. The building was cold most of the time anyway, and the smell of tar and smoke seemed to permeate every room. Frost and dead wood were perfumes in comparison, and Rose seemed to thrive on the outside air. Elaine simply bundled her up with extra layers and hats, pulled on some gloves with the fingertips snipped off, and went back to the papers.

                Sunday and Monday passed without incident, and Elaine thought that maybe Gold had returned to his earlier indifference—that made sense, actually. He hadn’t sought her out once since firing her, and the surprise of seeing Rose must have unsettled him, but he would go back to not caring about her existence.

                On Tuesday morning she returned to her normal routine of walking past Granny’s early in the morning with Rose in the stroller. Ruby presented her with the free tea, somehow managing to not react to the cold air even in her short shorts and tied-up blouse, and grinned at Rose, who smiled back over the blue scarf Elaine had wrapped around half her body.

                Dr. Hopper was nowhere to be seen, to her surprise, and she shrugged, reasoning that he must have an emergency of some kind. Jefferson seemed to have retreated back to his isolated house, spooked by the visitor, but his erratic behavior didn’t faze her anymore. A passel of children on the way to school rushed by, and Elaine smiled fondly at the thought that one day—far in the future, thankfully—Rose would be going off to school herself. They were passing by one of Storybrooke’s little nondescript shops and heading towards a more parklike area, with benches and some early-blooming flowers, when Elaine’s fear came to pass.

                Gold stepped into their path, not bothering to feign surprise at seeing her. He had been waiting, obviously, and his face was grim.

                “Elaine,” he said, eyes guarded. “I need to talk with you.” Elaine tightened her hands around the handle of the stroller.

                “I don’t think so,” she responded, placing a protective hand over Rose’s head. He smiled his harsh smile, the one he gave to people trying to bargain with him. Elaine had never been on the receiving end of it before: he had always seemed a little disarmed when talking with her. As for their last, horrible exchange, well, there had been too much bitterness and rage for calculation.

                “We’re going to talk, like it or not,” he gritted out, schooling his face back to neutrality with effort. “I don’t want this to be unpleasant, please.” Elaine blinked at that. Gold trying to be pleasant? Jefferson might be right about change, after all.

                “There’s nothing to say,” she said stiffly. “I haven’t seen you in a long while. My life doesn’t involve you anymore.” There was the threat of tears, pulling at the sides of her mouth, burning the edges of her eyes. She still wanted him to be part of her life, the way he had been for those months, friendly and careful and loving and complicated.

                She couldn’t deal with complicated anymore; at some point she had lost that. Now complicated was crying all night and hiding away in her shabby apartment.

                Gold took a shuddering breath and indicated Rose.

                “Just tell me, please, Elaine. Is she—mine?” His face was twitching, fearful, vulnerable as he asked, and Elaine thought she had seen it look that way once before. When she had kissed him, lightly, and told him she _loved_ him. In the moment before it had all gone bad. “Is that my child?”

                “Yes,” she said stiffly, because she was tired of lying. He had to have been expecting her answer, but still he nearly fell, his face twisting into some mixture of grief and regret.

                “Elaine, I’m so sorry, that I left you alone, I’m sorry…” There were tears gathering in his eyes, and he reached out one shaking hand toward her. Elaine stared at it, confused, upset by the look in his eyes, and shook her head.

                “No,” she whispered. “You’re not her father, not really. You’ve done nothing for her. I don’t know what you want from me, but you’re not getting it. Now get out of my way.” She maneuvered the stroller around him, and he turned to follow her.

                “I didn’t know!” he half-shouted. “You disappeared! I had a right to know about my own child!” The unshed tears made his voice tremble, and Elaine brushed at her own eyes, trying to clear her vision, fighting down grief with anger.

                “You didn’t _try_! You told me you never wanted to see me again!” she returned shrilly, and Rose started to fuss at her tone, casting her lion onto the ground. Elaine stooped to pick it up, and _felt_ Gold gather himself up, packing away his vulnerability and collecting himself. She had seen him do it before, and was glad she didn’t have to watch the coldness settle over his face. Rose took back the lion with an upset look, and Elaine tried to smile at her, though it was a shaky, teary attempt.

                She felt like such trash, the poor single mother failing at keeping her child happy—she knew that wasn’t true, but Rose’s unhappy face cut her to the core—and having a melodramatic conversation with the father.

                “You had a responsibility to _tell_ me!” he was really shouting now, truly furious. Elaine marched up to him, putting herself between him and Rose, and glared into his eyes. His mouth was twitching, just slightly, and his eyes were like mirrors, cold and unreadable.

                “No, I didn’t. And I’m not responsible for your regrets, Mr. Gold.” The cold air was welcome now, because her entire body was burning and shaking, and she wanted to tear off her coat and let the winter rush over her, calm her down. He settled back, and then stepped back, turning on his good heel.

                “Very well,” he said coolly, and walked away, unhurried and outwardly calm. Elaine frowned, wiping away the tears that were finally spilling over her face, and brushed a kiss to the top of Rose’s head. He hadn’t given up, whatever he wanted, because he wasn’t the giving up type.

                She was determinedly cheerful that night, singing songs to Rose as she fed her and rattling on about nonsense, about flowers and spring. She made up stories about dragons, making Rose the hero, mounted on a lion, and her daughter laughed and babbled nonsense, settling down easily for bed at the end of the day.

                Elaine finished the work on the mine’s accounts, then realized she had nothing else to occupy her thoughts and frowned, pulling out a sheet of paper. She needed to think about how to deal with Gold, should he attempt to take Rose from her.

                Only a few people knew that he was the father, and that he himself had only found out a few days ago was not in his favor. Clearly, he had done nothing for Rose. She earned enough money to support them, and she felt that if it came down to it, Jefferson would stand with her and offer her whatever she needed, whether she asked him to or not—whether she wanted him to or not.

                He could go digging around through her medical records—he had enough clout in town to do something like that, and it wasn’t exactly a secret that she had been locked up for schizophrenic-like hallucinations and erratic, destructive behavior. But she was fine now: Rose was healthy and happy, and since her birth, Elaine hadn’t had a single vision, heard a single whisper from behind her. Her daughter grounded her, kept everything real.

                Legally, she knew nothing about his rights, but surely no one would listen if he insisted Rose needed him. The mayor was a single mother, and though her very presence frightened Elaine, she thought that probably between her own pride and her hatred for Gold, she would take Elaine’s side.

                Then again, he had resources and money, plenty of it, to give Rose an easy, good life. Elaine eventually crumpled up the paper and flung it into the trash. If she thought any more about someone taking her daughter away from her, she would throw up, and she didn’t need that.

                She dusted the small apartment, knowing she should probably sleep, but nervous energy still fizzled in her veins after the fight, and part of her knew she wouldn’t be sleeping well for weeks.

                She still loved him: not as much as she loved Rose, maybe, but his wrecked face and trembling hand had cut at her. The desire to comfort, to hold, was all but gone, buried in fear and resentment and trampled hope, but his pain was her pain, and his pain went deep, for some reason.

                Well, it was what he deserved. She wiped her rag irritably over the small, dust-free desk she worked at, scowling. He was a lonely man, and he had thrown her love away. If he decided he wanted it, or Rose’s love, he was too late by far.

                He didn’t approach her after that, and a week later, Elaine was starting to relax, not checking restlessly for him whenever she walked down the street with Rose. She saw him occasionally, talking with the newcomer—Henry Mills’ biological mother, apparently—but he never tried to even catch her eye, though sometimes it happened anyway, and he would look either heartbroken or shuttered away.

                Elaine wasn’t sure how to feel about Emma Swan, who was pleasant if blunt, because Henry adored her, but Mayor Mills hated her. The mayor was a cold woman, but Elaine had to feel sorry for her, since she had somehow lost her son’s affection. If Rose ever turned away from her, she would crumble into ash and dust, she was certain of it.

                She warmed up to the woman though, when Ruby told her that Emma had told Ashley to stick up for herself and her baby. Ruby had seemed quite excited over it all, though her eyes were still tight with worry over her friend. Elaine couldn’t blame her: Ashley was younger than she was by several years, and though she didn’t have the disadvantage of being crazy, she was used to a very different life than the one she would have soon.

                “People should stick up for their children,” she agreed with Ruby, who nodded and told her to sit down, have a sandwich, and not worry about the cost. Elaine thought Granny might not approve, but Ruby told her imperiously that she should be fattened up—never mind that the girl was stick-thin and about six feet tall. She was very like the grandmother she constantly argued with in her tendency to take care of people, but it made Elaine smile.

                She was still sitting and talking with Ruby when one of the Shoeman kids burst into the diner to announce that Ashley was having her baby, and Miss Swan had been seen zooming to the hospital in her yellow car. Ruby unceremoniously bundled her and Rose and the kid into Granny’s car, as Ashley had—according to Lydia Shoeman’s breathless delivery—wrecked Ruby’s on the way out of town, and drove to the hospital, ignoring several important road signs on the way. Elaine didn’t appreciate this, cradling Rose to her chest and half-panicking about wrecking themselves, but they reached the parking lot without incident, and Ruby practically sprinted inside on her high heels.

                Emma Swan was standing inside the foyer, and so was Gold. Elaine watched Ruby rush past both of them and up the stairs. Emma flicked her eyes at Elaine for a second, but Gold didn’t notice her. She rested Rose on her hip and paused, uncertain what to do and unable to guess why Gold was here.

                “I don’t break deals, Miss Swan,” he was saying. “Miss Boyd agreed to everything, signed all the papers. She can’t back out now.”

                “Why don’t you make a deal with me, then? Because you’re not getting that child unless she gives it to you. I promise you that.” Elaine’s heart skipped a beat, blood turning cold.

                “What?” she croaked, and Gold spun around to look at her.

                “I’m organizing the adoption of Miss Boyd’s child,” he said, in a clipped tone. Elaine felt her lip curl.

                “You can’t just take a child away from its mother,” she protested. Gold’s eyes drifted toward Rose for a second, then he pursed his lips.

                “I’ve found it a good home, with parents who will take care of and love it,” he replied, not looking her in the eye.

                “She’s changed her mind!” Elaine half-yelled. “What, because she’s alone she can’t take care of her baby? I’ve done okay, I think!” Emma Swan touched her elbow.

                “I’ve got this, don’t worry,” she said anxiously, looking between Elaine and Gold. “You don’t want to piss him off.” Elaine bit back a laugh. He hadn’t wasted much time in putting off Storybrooke’s visitor.

                “Would you hold Rose for a second?” she asked brightly. Normally she wouldn’t let an almost stranger touch her daughter, let alone hold her, but Emma Swan seemed straightforward and kind, and the thought of holding Rose seemed to terrify her. Which meant she would be careful. Good. Elaine marched up to Gold, closer than he would like, and thrust her face into his.

                “Even if her boyfriend doesn’t come back, she had friends who are willing to help her,” she spat out, and his eyes darkened.

                “The boy knows, and he hasn’t come back for her,” he sneered. “He’s barely old to enough work a real job, let alone support a child, so he ran away.”

                “You’d be surprised at how good people are at raising their children, even _without_ help from the fathers, if that’s necessary.” Elaine could hear Emma Swan shift behind her, and realized that they were speaking quietly, but not in whispers. Gold tilted his head to one side, eyes softening, and Elaine could see his pain again, tugging at her heart.

                “They shouldn’t have to,” he choked out, and she blinked. “Children shouldn’t be abandoned by their parents. Miss Boyd was willing to give hers up—that child deserves better.”

                “Well, we all do the best with what we have,” Elaine said, hearing Emma Swan breathe sharply behind her at his last remark. “’Shouldn’t happen’ often happens.” She turned back and gathered up Rose. “Just because you’re angry at me, don’t hurt Ashley,” she whispered to him, walking out of the hospital again, and decided she would walk home rather than wait for Ruby.

                “Excuse me!” A very flustered, slightly dim-looking young man stopped her as she walked out the hospital door. “Is Ashley Boyd in there? She was pregnant, and—“ Elaine nodded, and he cut off midsentence and rushed inside. She thought she maybe recognized him: Sean something-or-other. The name had come up in Ruby’s long rant over the free sandwich, and Elaine thought—yes, he was Ashley’s boyfriend, he must be.

                There were some decent people in the world. And sometimes they needed prodding to be decent, like one’s girlfriend being rushed to the hospital while in labor.

                “I wonder what kind of prodding the rest of them need?” she asked Rose, and her daughter bopped her on the nose, gently, giggling. “I guess all the prodding in the world can’t make some people act well, if they’re not good people deep down, hmm?”

                She enjoyed another few weeks without an incident with Gold. The weather was warming up enough that she could leave the windows in her apartment open for hours at a time, and that Rose could crawl over the grass in the empty lot without getting excessively muddy.

                Her daughter loved the outside, smiling whenever she saw the woods, always striving to put her hands in the dirt or on the grass. She loved the sunshine and the clouds, and Elaine told her the names of the different types, because she giggled at the word “cumulonimbus,” when Elaine stretched it out and pitched her voice up and down.

                “Hello, Miss French,” someone said, while she was watching Rose try to pluck a dandelion from the ground. Her hair was finally getting some weight to it, coming in as fluffy brown curls. Elaine turned to see Henry Mills with his jacket and ever-present book.

                “Hello, Henry,” she said cautiously, never sure how to speak to the mayor’s odd child. “How are you?”

                “They elected the new sheriff yesterday.” Elaine smiled.

                “Yes, I know. Who won?” Henry beamed.

                “My mom!” _Which one?_ Elaine thought, but kept the unkind remark to herself. He was just a kid, if an uncommonly precocious and daring one. She wondered if Rose would grow up to be clever or silly, ambitious or content—well, she wasn’t an arrogant woman, but her and Gold’s genes should produce an intelligent child.

                “That’s good. I voted for her,” she replied, keeping one eye on Rose. She would miss Sheriff Graham: he had been there when she went into labor, asking her about the fire, and had run for the doctor and nurse, stayed calm when her water broke all over his boots. But Emma Swan was a good soul. She had put herself on the line for other people, and Elaine thought that was all you could ask your police to do for you.

                “Mr. Gold set a fire at my mom’s office,” he said, still sounding cheery. “And…my mom saved her.”

                “It’s all a little complicated for you, isn’t it?” Elaine asked him, to mask the sudden rush of adrenaline she had felt over hearing Gold’s name. Henry nodded ruefully. “A _fire?_ ”

                “Yup!” He peered at Rose, who was cooing over the flower. “Is he Rose’s dad?” Elaine choked.

                “Why would you think that?” she croaked. If he knew, then everyone knew. How had they found out?

                “Don’t worry,” he said confidently, pulling his book into his lap and opening it up. “I have an advantage. I’m pretty certain you’re Belle, and I asked Archie, and he told me you used to work for Mr. Gold, so he must be the Beast.” Elaine stared at him blankly.

                “What?” she asked. Henry sighed.

                “It’s kind of a secret, but you’re Belle from Beauty and the Beast.” Elaine blinked in the face of his surety and bit her lip.

                “Henry, that’s a very clever and creative idea, but I’m not from any fairy tale. There aren’t happy endings like that in the real world. We have to work for them, here.” Henry nodded at her.

                “It’s okay if you don’t understand now. I just wanted to check. And I won’t tell anyone about Rose.” Elaine caught his sleeve as he turned to go.

                “Henry, you need to be careful. You can’t—you have to be careful of your mind, alright? Don’t let your imagination confuse your eyes.” He gave her a slightly condescending smile, but it seemed sweet on his face, then scampered off.

                Elaine groaned and slumped down in the grass, prompting Rose to turn and crawl onto her belly. As if she didn’t have enough problems, the mayor’s sweet but unbalanced son had guessed Rose’s father. Of course, he was processing it all through his fairytale point of view, but it was unsettling. Storybrooke seemed to be waking up lately, people being more inquisitive, as if shaking off a fog. Maybe it was just her paranoia, after Gold finding out.

                “Beauty and the Beast, huh?” She lifted Rose above her head, and she shrieked with delight. “He might be as mad as me, but that is kind of poetic, isn’t it?” She sat up, swinging Rose around and resting her on her lap. “We’d best get home, I wouldn’t want to deprive you of our exciting dinner.”

                Ruby wanted to bring her to a girls’ night out on Valentine’s Day, but Elaine didn’t really know her friends, and she didn’t know who she would trust with Rose for longer than a few minutes. Jefferson was affectionate, but too erratic to leave Rose with, and she hadn’t seen him in weeks. Granny was watching Ashley’s newborn, and that exhausted her list of people she _might_ call upon.

                She was startled awake at two in the morning by the ringing of the phone, running to the kitchen to pick up, hoping Rose wouldn’t stir.

                “Hello?” she asked.

                “Elaine? It’s Sheriff Swan.” She frowned, wondering what could have the sheriff calling at two in the morning. Nothing good, for sure. “I’m sorry, but your father’s in the hospital, and you’re the only contact I have for him.”

                “I—I haven’t talked to him in a long time,” she stammered. “What’s happened?” The sheriff sighed on the other end.

                “It’s rather complicated, and I don’t want to go through it on the phone. He was in some kind of dispute. I really need you to come in to the hospital to sign forms.” Elaine rubbed her forehead, trying to absorb the information.

                “He’s not sick? He’s hurt? Who would get in a fight with my father?” Emma sighed again, and Elaine could feel her reluctance through the connection.

                “Mr. Gold, apparently, though I’m still confused about the details. He’s stable, but if you could meet me later this morning, that would be good.”

                “Sure,” Elaine said, and hung up unceremoniously, heart pounding. She would wait until Rose woke up, but she wouldn’t be sleeping for the rest of the night.

                What _now_?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've misjudged the time span for a lot of season 1, so just...it's weird weather for Maine, okay? I'm really sorry about that.


	6. We Were Left To Catch Our Breaths

Elaine was tired by the time Rose woke up, though she had only been sitting and staring into space for most of the night. But her daughter needed changing and feeding and dressing before they headed down to the hospital, so she busied herself heating up rice cereal for Rose and oatmeal for herself. She didn’t know what she would say to her father or the sheriff: hopefully very little, just a sign-off on some forms, a nod to Dr. Whale, and no more.

                The sheriff looked as tired as she felt when they finally made it to the entrance to the hospital, though at least she had a car to drive. Emma Swan—whom she still referred to mentally as ‘the stranger’—tried to offer her a cup of coffee, but she shook her head.

                “I’m still nursing: even a little makes Rose cranky, I’ve found.” The sheriff nodded, not batting an eye at the information, and stowed the coffee back inside her car.

                “Should we go inside?” she suggested, and didn’t wait for Elaine’s reply. The hospital was one of Elaine’s least favorite places in Storybrooke, and the occasional visit for Rose’s checkups with Storybrooke’s only doctor were bad enough: she stopped in the lobby and sat down in one of the chairs there. Rose looked around, stretching out her hands to grab at the magazines piled up on tables. Elaine wiggled her beloved stuffed lion before her, but for once her daughter could not be distracted, and started wailing for the colorful papers, trying to crawl from the stroller and grasp them.

                “I’ll find Dr. Whale,” Emma said, sounding a little panicked at the way Rose was crying, and vanished spectacularly quickly. Elaine picked Rose up and bounced her, wishing she had a piece of paper to give her that was less likely to be coated in bacteria. The ancient issues of _Time_ that strewed the tables had likely been touched by all of Storybrooke: there were a few copies from the eighties, still. Elaine rolled her eyes at the stinginess of the hospital—or the town—and got Rose’s wailing to turn into whimpering. One woman, sitting reading _Better Homes and Gardens_ while holding her hand uncomfortably so as to display her wedding ring, sniffed audibly at her and tugged her toddler closer.

                Before Elaine could react much, Sheriff Swan and Dr. Whale returned. The doctor wore his ever-present half-hearted smile, but Elaine didn’t mind him overmuch. He tended to leer, to be sure, but his professionalism took over most of the time. And the fact that she had been crazy, pregnant, or a mother for most of her interactions with him made him less likely to flirt, she thought.

                “Elaine,” he shook her hand agreeably, and smiled more genuinely at Rose. “Your father’s fine.”

                “He usually is,” she said dryly. “What happened?”

                “Here, let me take you to him.” He set off down the corridor, leaving Elaine to follow and Sheriff Swan to bring up the rear, like an irate sheepdog. Elaine felt as if she were being nipped at the heels, but kept her face composed as she followed Whale to a ward on the first floor.

                It was nothing like her chilly basement room, with a high-set window and blank walls. Beds were lined up in rows, separated by curtains, and the windows were tall and bright. The walls weren’t much better, but a quiet bustle pervaded the rooms, nurses going about, people sitting up and talking in their beds. Not the ringing, numbing silence of her old, lonely room. She let out a sigh, adjusting Rose, and took comfort in the feeling of her daughter in her arms.

                Her father was sitting upright, with his face bruised and puffy, and a cast on one arm. A blanket covered most of his body, so Elaine couldn’t see what else might be wrong with him. Next to him was a tank of oxygen, the mask hooked over the top: so he didn’t need it all the time. That was a good sign, she thought.

                “Hello, Dad,” she said briskly, and he looked up, seeming surprised at the sight of her. “What happened to you?” He shrugged, then winced.

                “Nothing, honey. I’m fine. Just made a mistake. Nothing to worry about.”

                “I can see you’re fine,” she said acidly. “Gold did this to you?” His face soured at the name and he twisted his mouth.

                “As I’ve mentioned many times, he’s an unstable man. It’s good you don’t work for him anymore.” Elaine couldn’t stop an angry twitch of her own mouth and tsked.

                “And of course you were completely innocent,” she snapped, not responding to his other taunt. He wouldn’t say anything outright, but he wasn’t above being unkind to her about it.

                “You were noted as your father’s emergency contact,” Dr. Whale interrupted brightly. “We need you to verify that he’s received adequate attention here.” Elaine scrawled her name across the papers, barely bothering to glance over them. She would have signed them in the lobby, rather than come into a ward, or talk with her father.

                “Dad, you probably ought to find someone else. I can’t be coming done here often, I’m busy.” Elaine wondered if she simply left, the doctor or sheriff would pursue her.

                “We’ll get it taken care of, no worries,” Dr. Whale smiled her way again, and tucked the paper into a folder.

                The sheriff walked back with her, sipping on her coffee and darting her eyes about every which way.

                “Not a big fan of the hospital?” she asked. Elaine shook her head as they passed through the doors and back into the brisk street air.

                “I gave birth in the psych ward,” she confided, unsure why she was trusting this odd woman with her secrets, but not regretting it. Emma snorted, unlocking her car.

                “I gave birth in prison,” she replied. “Sorry, but I have to get a statement from you down at the station. I’ll drive us down there: well, I guess with no carseat, we’d better walk, huh?” She didn’t seem displeased with this, only pocketing her keys after relocking the doors.

                The walk was cool, grey, and pleasant, the sheriff walking alongside her: at a pace slower than she was used to, Elaine could tell. Rose was still fussy, continually dropping her lion onto the pavement, but Emma didn’t seem to mind picking it up, eventually tucking it under her arm when she realized Rose was simply being troublesome.

                “Why do you need a statement from me?” she asked. Emma sighed.

                “Because I thought maybe you could give me some information on _why_ Mr. Gold decided to beat the hell out of your father with his cane. Neither of them is particularly interested in telling me his motivations.” Elaine twisted her mouth.

                “They’re both foolish people,” she said tightly. Emma looked skeptical.

                “Uh-huh,” she said. “I’m sure that’s all there is to it. Come on, Elaine, I have to be able to understand this town if I’m going to help it.”

                “I really don’t know why either of them did—whatever exactly happened,” Elaine said, rubbing her forehead. Her head was starting to throb. “Look, just ask Gold, he can tell you.”

                “I have, and he wouldn’t say. You, however, worked for him for almost a year. You know him. Please just try for me. He might talk to you.” Elaine shook her head determinedly, knowing the sheriff must be frustrated by now, but that was too bad. She had had more talks with Gold in the last few weeks than she cared to ever have again.

                “That doesn’t matter,” she said, trying to force the sheriff to leave the subject, but Emma was like Jefferson in that she liked to dictate the conversation.

                “Well,” Emma said, pulling open the door to the police station. “It seemed personal, that’s all. Like they were fighting over a woman.” Elaine bit the inside of her cheek and pushed Rose’s stroller through the door, staying silent.

                “Elaine, how nice to see you.” She froze at the rich, familiar voice, and whipped her head round at Emma.

                “Why is he here?” The sheriff raised an eyebrow at Elaine’s horrified look.

                “He’s under arrest for assault and battery,” she said. “Where else would he be?” She frowned at Gold. “Play nice. Elaine, I’ll just get the papers together. If you don’t have anything to say, this won’t take long, I don’t think…” She trailed off, looking through the file cabinets and shaking her head over Graham’s system. Elaine stood stiffly next to the desk, not looking at Gold.

                “Your daughter looks well,” he said, with no trace of his usual underlying sarcasm. Elaine pressed her lips together.

                “Don’t,” she said quietly. Emma managed to knock over a pile of papers on her desk, and Elaine was grateful, as their conversation was turning ugly and private. She moved closer to the cell, glaring at him through the bars. He seemed unconcerned by his incarceration, sitting easily on the built-in bench. It reminded her sharply of the bed in the psych ward.

                “Can’t I help you?” Elaine curled her lip in her best imitation of him, recalling how he dealt with people who came into his shop begging: a patient sneer, a nasty condescension.

                “You’re locked up,” she observed. “I don’t think you’ll be doing anyone much good.” He smiled tightly, then it faltered.

                “Not for long. I mean… with your daughter. Money, clothing, anything you need. Let me help you, Elaine.” She snorted at that, turning back to look at her still-fitful daughter, who was tugging angrily on the lion’s ear and kicking her legs.

                “She has all the help she needs.”

                “Yes, that’s why you’re living in that terrible apartment and scraping by as a freelance accountant for people who can’t count on their hands.” Elaine started.

                “I live there because I don’t want to live somewhere owned by you!” she snapped, voice rising. Rose looked over, startled into quiet and stillness, but Elaine scarcely noticed. “How dare you go around looking into my business!” He stood up, gripping the bars of the cell for support, and bared his teeth.

                “I am trying to see what help you might need,” he spat. Emma Swan was standing at her desk, holding a piece of paper, no doubt the relevant file, but Elaine was past caring.

                “What _help_?” she shouted. “What help did I get from you when I was in the hospital? What help were you when I was alone with Rose all summer?” Rose let out a tremulous wail.

                “I didn’t _know_ , I’m sorry!” His face was a wreck, and the hand not holding him upright was reaching out for her. “Elaine, please, I love you, I’m sorry—“ She cut him off with a harsh laugh.

                “Is this a joke?” She wasn’t shouting, now; her voice dropped to something between a whisper and a snarl. Her heart was beating so fast she couldn’t hear feel anything else, and tears pooled in her eyes and spilled over in the same breath. There was some sort of sick irony here, some cruel parallel, because he was crying too, and the last time she had cried in front of him, she had just told him she loved him. “You’re telling me you love me, now? You’re a year and a half late, Mr. Gold.” She wiped her eyes with the heel of her hand and met his, still, as always, hurt by his hurt, but forcing it down. “You fucked me and left me. You threw me away like trash and now you want me back? I don’t think so.”

                There was absolutely no joy in seeing him sink back to his seat, trembling, and she walked calmly over to Emma’s desk—the sheriff gaped at her, at him, at Rose, something beginning to click together for her—and threw up into the wastebasket.

                “I’ll fill out the forms later, I think,” she said, as steady-voiced as possible. Emma nodded faintly.

                “Yeah, I think you’d better do that,” she said softly, and helped her wheel Rose to the door, who was crying again. She paused at the door. “Elaine, I had no idea, I am so sorry for bringing you in there.”

                “It’s okay, no one knows. Don’t say anything, please?”

                “Of course not,” the sheriff assured her. “If you need anything, just let me know.” Elaine tried to smile but couldn’t quite manage it.

                “Yeah,” she said.

                They got home somehow, Elaine lifting Rose up to her shoulder and dragging the stroller behind in an attempt to calm her. She got a few strange looks in the street, her face tear-streaked and eyes red, but no one approached her. She locked the door to their apartment, settling Rose down onto a blanket and scrubbing her face and mouth with icy water, until the taste of vomit was gone and she was less tearful.

                “I never cried this much, before, eh, Rose?” She lifted her daughter into the old highchair and set out a jar of baby food and a slice of bread for herself. Her stomach was still twisted up and pained. “Don’t worry, it won’t last.” Rose wrinkled her nose at the spoonful of carrots, and Elaine smiled at her. “Mmm, carrots, yummm,” she tried. Her daughter reluctantly took the spoon into her mouth and swallowed with an exaggerated shudder. “Oh, stop that,” Elaine chided.

                “Mama,” Rose said, very clearly, and Elaine froze. The next was all babbling, then another “mama.” She reached a hand toward Elaine, who smiled helplessly.

                “That’s right, sweet,” she whispered around the lump in her throat. “I’m your mama, Rose.” With that, her daughter’s first word, all the tension of the day tightened, then flowed out of her body. Another few tears trickled down her face, unbidden, but happy. “And I’m going to make sure you’re safe.”


	7. Unconsolable Daughter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for how absurdly long this update took. Hope you like it!

                Elaine elected not to go to the Miner’s Day festival. She could use the quiet of the building to catch up on the accounts she was going over, and Rose needed to sleep. The mood in town was unpleasant lately: demure Mary Margaret Blanchard, the teacher, who always smiled when she saw Elaine, was sneered at by half the populace. Elaine didn’t think too highly of the woman for having an affair, but from what Ruby had said—and Ruby said everything, whether Elaine wished to hear it or not—David Nolan was at fault more than the schoolteacher.

                Staying at home with her newly-babbling daughter was a much more appealing thought: Rose could say ‘la,’ her approximation of ‘lion,’ and ‘sky,’ as well as ‘mama.’ Her other words were still nonsense, but Elaine thought she would speak more when she was ready. Trying to get her to speak more would be pointless.

                Rose was sleeping peacefully when she sat down and fished out the cannery’s papers, frowning at the messy file folder. No doubt the most important numbers would be scrawled on the backs of fast food napkins and coupons for car washes.

                A knock sounded at the door, and she jumped. Everyone was at the festival, including her landlord. She was all paid up, anyway: rent was her first priority every month. The peephole in the door showed her Jefferson’s jittery form, and she unlocked the door, sighing.

                “Shh,” she said. “Rose is asleep.” He nodded distractedly, turning one of his hats over and over in his hands, and walked down, sitting in one of the chairs and tapping his foot restlessly on the floor. “Are you all right?” Elaine had seen him upset before, but he was rubbing his face and running his hands through messy hair, practically twitching.

                “I’ve been waiting so long, Elaine,” he said. “My Grace.” She bit her lip and turned into the kitchen, finding a box of chamomile teabags and hurrying to boil some water.

                “Let me make you some tea and we can talk,” she soothed, and he nodded, still plucking at the ribbon that banded his hat, turning the wide length of green silk into a mess of thin fibers.

                “Tea is a good idea,” he agreed, though his hands did not still. Elaine left him to sit while the water heated, then brought him a mug. The pale yellow tisane was supposed to be calming, but Elaine had not liked the taste, and it had sat in her cupboard since she brewed the first cup.

                “Chamomile,” Jefferson said, and frowned deeply. “Grace liked to have tea parties, with all her dolls. Usually she just poured water, or air. She never minded.” Elaine took his hand and tried to smile.

                “How long has it been since you saw your daughter?” she asked gently. He never was especially clear on that end, not liking to talk about time. It couldn’t have been too long: he was a young man, though his eyes were tired and half-mad. He laughed at the question, setting the cup down onto the table with a harsh smack, and Elaine’s eyes darted towards the bedroom where Rose slept.

                “That’s the thing. _That_ is the heart of all of this, the cruelest part of it. And I thought that it would be better now that things have changed, but it’s not. It’s _worse_.” Elaine sighed. He was not safe to be left with himself, but she didn’t know if she had the energy to talk him through his confusion all night.

                “How long?” she pressed. He pushed the heels of his hands against his eyes.

                “A few hours. A few decades.” Elaine tried rubbing his shoulders and put his hand back on the teacup.

                “All right, don’t worry about it,” she said resignedly. “Maybe you should go home, try and get some sleep.”

                “It’s not home. And it’s empty.” He looked sideways, eyes narrowed at her. “Why don’t you go home, hmm? What’s the princess doing in this hovel?” He put his face in his hands and groaned. “None of the stories make sense anymore, it’s all gone wrong.”

                Elaine pulled the blanket from her bed, stepping softly so as not to disturb Rose, who breathed quietly and occasionally gave a quiet murmur in her sleep. Jefferson didn’t react when she draped it over his shoulders and then stood awkwardly. Usually he was the comforter, whimsical, playful, and not quite right, but still the stronger one. She pushed her chair next to his and let him fall asleep on her shoulder, one hand twitching and the other crushing his hat into nothing.

                She woke before Rose cried, her right arm numb from Jefferson’s weight, her face wrinkled from sleeping on her other arm. The apartment was still dim: she looked up at the cracked clock on the wall. Only five.

                “Jefferson,” she shook his shoulder. “Wake up.” He lifted his head and blinked confusedly. “You should go.”

                “Yes,” he agreed, standing. Elaine winced and rubbed her arm, trying to force some feeling back into the limb. “Tea is a good idea. I think I’ll go with that.” Elaine plucked the box from the counter and pressed it into his hands.

                “You can take this, all right?” He looked down at it, as if surprised to see the little box, printed with a cartoon bear in a nightcap and gown, in his long fingers. “It will help you sleep.” He straightened his hat as best as he could and placed it back on his head with a trace of his usual smile in his eyes.

                “Watch out for yourself, Elaine. And for Rose.” He fumbled in the pocket of his trousers and put a pile of bills down on the table. “I’m not going to be around till it’s all over, so don’t argue.” Elaine folded her arms.

                “Till what’s over?” she asked. He always spoke cryptically, but his prolonged absence over the last month and a half had been unusual. He didn’t reply, just tipped his hat and reached for the door handle. “Take care of yourself.”

                He had left far more money than Elaine liked to keep in the apartment, but she stowed it away inside some books, then returned to her perusal of the cannery’s finances.

                Rose played happily on the floor through the morning, content to crawl around at Elaine’s feet with her stuffed lion and be read to every so often. They needed more books, Elaine thought, since soon she would be tired of the very simple stories they had now. Her favorite was a much-chewed cardboard book about a lizard and a hare who went on adventures together.

                “Would you like to go on adventures, Rose?” she asked, and her daughter turned her wide brown eyes upwards and smiled. “You could bring Lion along.”

                She jumped at another knock on the door. Who could it be now? Jefferson wouldn’t be back for a long time, if she understood him correctly. Mr. Bear stood at the door, panting a little from the climb upstairs and smoothing his black mustache.

                “Hello,” she said cautiously. “What’s the matter?”

                “I just came by to give you the news. They’ve found a heart buried in the woods, and the sheriff took in David Nolan. Everyone knows it’s his wife’s.” Elaine felt her heart skip, and she bit her lip.

                “That’s terrible,” she said, feeling like the landlord was more interested in seeing her reaction to the news and gossiping than actually informing her. “Thanks for coming to tell us.”

                “Guess that schoolteacher is well shut of him, eh?” he continued, confirming her suspicions. She inched the door closer to the frame and gave him a faint smile.

                “Good-bye,” she hinted, and all but shut the door in his face. Rose waved her lion as her mother approached, her laughter becoming a loud shout. Elaine scooped her up and held her against her chest, muttering nonsense. “No adventures for us, I think. We shall stay out of this mystery: we’re better off with _Lizard and Hare Go On A Hike_ , I think.”

                She took Rose to the empty lot to play in the afternoon, donning her heaviest scarf against the wind. Rose, bundled so tightly that she was nearly spherical, pulled up small fistfuls of grass and shrieked happily over the wet green stalks.

                “Your daughter is so sweet.” Elaine stiffened at the rich, cherry-syrup voice of the mayor, and turned to find the woman standing only a few feet away. Her dark eyes were calm, but Elaine could see the scheming behind, the calculation in every line of her body.

                “Thank you,” she said. The mayor, she thought, had been the one to push the doctors into permitting her father to lock her up in the hospital. Maybe she had deserved it. The past was a hazy place; Elaine much preferred the present.

                “Motherhood is agreeing with you much better than pregnancy ever did.” Elaine tightened her mouth. Regina hadn’t borne her child.

                “Rose makes me happy.” Rose was more than that. She loved her daughter more than anything: the sight of her sleeping curled into a little ball in her crib, or grasping at grass stems, or staring transfixed at the illustrations in her book, made her heart tighten and swell at once. Rose was the heaviest and most welcome burden of her life, and Elaine’s private thought was that her daughter’s presence was what kept her sane. No voices whispered, nothing prompted her to set fire to sheds.

                “That’s wonderful,” the mayor continued, and folded her hands delicately over her middle, a hesitant look on her face. Elaine thought the woman had never hesitated more than once in her life, and not over asking a near-stranger an invasive question, as she seemed about to do. “I hope you’re not having any trouble with her father. He’s been… erratic, lately.” Elaine scowled at the ground, wondering how long it would take for the whole town to find out if Regina wished it.

                “We’re fine, thank you.” She had enough problems of her own: she should worry about the decidedly more aggressive birth mother of her own son. The mayor nodded and pulled out a small parcel from her purse.

                “I know it’s hard being a single mother.” Her voice was almost sincere, her eyes all sympathy, but the calculation never left completely. She handed the package to Elaine, who looked curiously at it. “But I don’t doubt you’ll do fine.” With that, she turned and walked away without another word.

                Elaine didn’t open the parcel until after Rose was put to sleep again. It was wrapped carefully in white paper and taped neatly. She pulled away the paper to reveal a box with a few thin children’s books, some little plastic toys, and a bag of dried apples. Regina had written a note on top of the box: _the books and toys were Henry’s. The apples I am just trying to give away._ Touched, Elaine filled a glass with water and examined the little plastic truck and a soft stuffed snake. Rose would like the snake, for sure, and in a few months she would be old enough for the truck and the books.

                The dried apples were soft and sweet, and Elaine ate most of the bag before staggering off to bed and falling into a heavy sleep.

                She woke to Rose’s screaming instead of with a jerk at six o’clock, head pounding. The bedroom was overbright, the sunlight coming in through the blinds like knives of light. Elaine sat up, and the room lurched around her, everything turning curved and blurry. Her head throbbed with every beat of her heart, and she couldn’t open her mouth, it was so dry. She needed to throw up: her stomach pained her, but she couldn’t. The little clock on her bedside table said nine-twenty. Was she sick? How had she not woken?

                Her limbs felt trembly and weak, and she ended up crawling from bed to Rose’s crib.

                “Shh, darling,” she rasped. “I’ll be right back.” She was soaked in sweat, the t-shirt and shorts she slept in sticking to her skin. It took far too long for her to crawl, arms shaking, to the kitchen, and drag herself up to the sink. The cold water splashing over her face and into her mouth revived her a little. The idea of eating sickened her, so she drank as much as she could and took the phone off the wall, nudging it before her as she tried to hurry back.

                She wouldn’t be able to stand and lift Rose, she realized. The sides of her crib were too high: even if she could drag herself upright, she didn’t trust her weak arms to lift her daughter. Rose was still squalling, though she wrapped her hand around the finger Elaine thrust through the bars of the crib.

                “It’s okay, darling,” she soothed. She should call the hospital. Or the sheriff’s station, but the thought of crawling back to find her phone book made her want to cry. Her hands were shaking so that she could scarcely hold the phone, and her vision kept going blurry and spotty. Jefferson wouldn’t be back: he had told her he would be unavailable until whenever the plot inside of his head played out. Her father would still be in the hospital. Putting aside pride and sense and hurt, she dialed the only other number she knew by heart.

                “Hello,” Gold’s terse voice greeted her after a few rings, and she suppressed a groan of relief.

                “Gold,” she croaked—her mouth and throat had gone dry again. “Will you call the hospital for me? I’m really sick, too sick to look after Rose—“

                “Elaine?” he interrupted, and she could see the way his face must look now. “I’ll call 911.”

                “No!” she snapped. “The, the sheriff will just come. I need a doctor, just call the hospital.” The effort of speaking coherently was making her eyes cross and she wanted to lie down and sleep, but Rose was crying and her head and insides hurt so badly, and Gold wasn’t listening.

                “All right,” he said, and the connection cut off. Elaine slumped down, resting her head against the carpeted floor, knowing she must be dampening it with sweat. Rose’s wailing decreased a little when Elaine wiggled her fingers as best as she could.

                She wasn’t sure exactly how much time had passed when she heard footfalls on the stairs and in the hallway, then the click of the lock.

                “Elaine?” Mr. Bear’s voice sounded worried: no doubt less for her than for the trouble this could cause. He wasn’t alone: in a few seconds, she saw Dr. Whale’s shoes in front of her face and he was bending over her, feeling her pulse and unhooking the stethoscope from around his neck.

                “Elaine, how do you feel?” he asked quietly, putting the cold metal disc over her heart.

                “Sick,” she managed to say, voice weak. He nodded, and turned to snap at her landlord, who was standing in the doorway, looking uncomfortable.

                “Bring me a cup of water and a clean towel from the kitchen.”

                “What about Rose?” Elaine said, irritated that the doctor was ignoring her crying child to look over her. Whale smiled the soft, placating smile he put on for patients, and wiped off her face and neck with the towel, cradling her head to let her sip the water.

                “It won’t hurt her to cry for a few minutes. I think your friend Ruby is on her way: I called her on my way here. Her grandmother has looked after half the children here at some point, Rose will be fine. How long have you been sick?”

                “I haven’t been. I woke up a few minutes ago and I can’t even stand.” The effort it took to talk was making her eyelids heavy once more.

                “Okay, relax,” he continued, sticking a thermometer into her ear and frowning at the result. “We’re going to bring you to the hospital.”

                Ruby did show up while Whale was still directing some of the nurses and the simple stretcher they were bringing into the room. Granny followed her, and gave Elaine a questioning look, flicking her eyes towards Rose. She nodded faintly, and Granny leaned over and picked Rose up with ease, cooing to her softly.

                “She likes the lion,” Elaine said, and Ruby hurried to pluck it from the crib, eyes worried.

                “We’ll be right at the hospital after she gets a change,” Granny said comfortingly. “Ruby can be in charge for a few hours.” Rose was settling, no longer screaming and merely fussing as Ruby looked for diapers. Elaine could barely keep her eyes open, not even bothering to try and move her body onto the stretcher. At some point between the building and the ambulance, she fell back into unconsciousness.

                She woke up in a hospital bed and panicked, trying to sit up and pull the plastic tube in her arm out. Her head lurched, and she fell back into the bed, gasping for breath that suddenly came short. The smell of bleach and latex and sickness permeated the air, and she flicked her eyes desperately around the white room, seeing only the tall machines that lined the walls and the faded, bland pink curtains on the window.

                “Miss French, please calm down,” someone said, and then a woman in white was leaning over her, checking the tube in her arm. “You’re not well.”

                “Where’s my daughter?” she asked, trying to force her body to sit up. “Where’s Rose?”

                “Mrs. Lucas has her downstairs. She’s fine.”

                “I want to see her,” Elaine said firmly. “Please tell Granny to come up with her.” Being calm was a good idea. She couldn’t panic, let her fear of the hospital overwhelm her. She would be ready to go home with Rose by the end of the day. The nurse bit her lip and fiddled with the I.V. bag, adjusting it on its metal stand.

                “It’s not that simple,” she said, and Elaine felt a chill run through her. She was about to ask what on earth she could be talking about when she heard a commotion in the hall: at least four people shouting. The nurse straightened and frowned, heading towards the noise.

                Sheriff Swan was the first into the room, but she didn’t see Elaine, as she was backing inside, one arm clenched around Ruby’s and the other stretched out into the rest of the argument, which was angry, if not yet physically violent.

                “It’s not my call alone to make, of course,” that was the mayor’s candy-sweet voice. “But we need to look at the evidence, and what it tells us about Miss French’s capabilities as a parent.”

                “Madam Mayor, why don’t you stop worrying for a minute about taking a child away from her mother, and worry about the mother’s health?” The sheriff sounded exasperated, and Elaine looked up to see her, the mayor, Dr. Whale, Ruby, and Gold all spill into her room. Gold’s eyes fixed on her immediately, sweeping her face and body, and then he limped the last few steps to the chair at the bedside.

                “Don’t worry, Elaine,” he said quietly. “I’m going to make sure everything turns out fine.” The look in his eyes and the tone of his voice meant he was caught between worry and rage. She wondered if anyone else recognized just how angry he was: she could read him better than anyone. Then she wondered what he was angry about, and turned her eyes back to the mayor. Regina looked triumphant under her mask of concern, and it was directed at Gold instead of Elaine.

                “Everyone please be quiet!” Dr. Whale cut in, and folded his arms. “I need to speak to Elaine alone.” The mayor curled her lip.

                “Please, doctor-patient confidentiality has gone out the window at this point. Everyone knows.”

                “Knows what?” Elaine rasped. “Please, I’d like to see Rose.”                  

                “You’re not laying a finger on her until someone’s decided it’s safe for her,” Regina said cuttingly. Elaine blinked, feeling she was missing something terrible and important.

                “Why wouldn’t it be safe?” she asked, her heart pounding again, the sour taste of fear inching back into her throat. Dr. Whale cleared his throat and held up a sheet of paper.

                “Elaine, your blood tests came back with traces of all kinds of toxins. Alcohol, opiates…” Elaine shook her head.

                “No, no, that’s someone else’s tests. I’ve never done drugs in my life, and I haven’t had a drink since I found out I was pregnant.” Tears collected in the corners of her eyes and spilled over, running down her temples. “I would never do anything to endanger Rose.”

                “We know,” Ruby chipped in from the doorway. Regina huffed.

                “Very touching,” she snapped. “Miss French, you’re considered under arrest for the duration of your stay in the hospital.” The sheriff nodded reluctantly.

                “I’m sorry, Elaine. We’ll figure it out.” Her tears were turning into sobs, her whole body shaking, and the room was turning blurry again. “Maybe something you ate reacted badly, and the tests misread it.”

                “What about Rose?” she said, chest heaving, lungs feeling small and tight again. They couldn’t think she was bad for her daughter. They couldn’t. They couldn’t keep her away. The mayor smiled.

                “The foster system can handle her for a few weeks, I don’t doubt. Mrs. Lucas has a business to run.” Gold jerked in his seat, rose, and turned to glare at Regina. The sheriff was scowling too, her eyes angry.

                “That seems excessive. Someone can watch her for whatever time needed, no doubt,” she said, though her voice was curiously deep and distant in Elaine’s ears. Every breath she took smelled like bleach and apples, and her head was aching again. She tried to stop sobbing, tried to let the nurse take her hand and comfort her, so she could hear what was happening.

                “I’ll be happy to,” Gold said, his distinctive voice piercing her hazy mind.

                “You’re going to look after a child?” Regina said scornfully. “Really?”

                “Indeed. I’m not a novice at it, whatever you might think.” Elaine blinked, trying to make the figures in front of her focus.

                “What does the mother think about this?” the mayor continued: her voice was like dark smoke, spiraling from her mouth. Elaine shuddered: her panic and sickness was making her think illogical paths. She couldn’t let it happen.

                “If the mother doesn’t mind me caring for _my child_ , you won’t stand in my way. _Please_.” He found Elaine’s hand, wrapping her fingers in his, and she took absurd comfort in the gesture, though her sobs were lessening more due to the black band pressing down on her skull than to his touch.

                “Huh,” she heard Ruby and Dr. Whale say in unison, just before the room folded and melted into black nothingness.     


	8. Innocent Fingers

                Elaine hated the hospital. She hated the smell and sound of it, the loneliness of it, and she hated that Rose wasn’t with her. The past few days she had slipped in and out of sleep, waking in a haze to sip at water or soup while her stomach twisted up. In truth, she was not exactly sure how much time she had been in the little white room: she remembered waking sweating while the room was dark, and the nurses had been by to draw blood several times.

                Now she was cogent enough to be distressed about being in the hospital: at least she had a proper window, which kept her from outright panic, but she still wished for her daughter. The last time she had been locked up, she hadn’t been alone: she needed Rose with her.

                One of the nurses came into the room, interrupting her circling thoughts. She was very young, and dressed in blue scrubs instead of white. She smiled brightly at Elaine.

                “You look better today,” she said kindly. “Less feverish.” Elaine blinked at her.

                “What’s wrong with me?” she asked. Surely, the tests were straightened out now and they would be giving her the correct medicine, so that she could get back to Rose. The nurse walked over to her right side and pulled the I.V. needle from her hand. Elaine hissed at the feeling, but the other woman simply taped a square bandage over her skin and pushed away the stand that held the saline bag.

                “You reacted badly to all those drugs,” she said, voice carefully toneless. “But you’ve stopped sweating out all your fluids for the time being.” Elaine sighed heavily.

                “I don’t do drugs,” she snapped. “When will the sheriff come? And I want to see my daughter.” Emma was a good person: she would figure out what had really happened, and bring Rose back. If her head would stop aching, she would stand up herself and leave the hospital, but her limbs felt limp and unresponsive. She twitched her fingers, trying to clench her hand.

                “Mr. Gold has brought her a few times, but you were sleeping.” She could only feel relief: at least Rose knew she was safe. She tried to reach for the nurse’s hand.

                “What’s your name?” she asked.

                “Melanie,” the nurse replied. “Your daughter looked fine: clean and well-fed and very happy to see you.” Elaine smiled tremulously, exhausted tears pricking her eyes.

                “Good,” she said, and determined to stay awake until the next time Gold brought Rose. If she was too weak to hold her daughter, at least she would talk to her and smile at her.

                She fell asleep again anyway, her eyes sliding closed against her will, but woke soon: the light in the room wasn’t much different, and Melanie returned a little while afterwards. She pulled the curtains around the bed shut.

                “Do you want a bath, Elaine?” she asked. “I can’t give you a full one, but we can do a sponge bath. Elaine nodded. She felt sticky, and if she had been able to lift her hand, she knew her hair must be slick to the touch and filthy with grease. Melanie levered her until she was in a sitting position, and pulled her gown over her head with practiced hands. The basin of warm water with sponge that she had on her cart she lifted to the edge of the bed. “I’ll send someone in to do the sheets, too,” she said, and dabbed at Elaine’s face.

                “Why won’t anyone believe me about the drugs?” she asked. Melanie wiped the back of her neck and started on her breastbone.

                “Tests don’t lie,” she said.

                “People do,” Elaine replied. But Dr. Whale had no reason to lie to her, nor did the sheriff or the mayor. Maybe she had eaten something contaminated, and it explained the illness as well as the drugs.

                She pondered this as best she could with a fuzzy mind while Melanie wiped her off with the sponge and then helped her into a clean gown. True to her word, she called for two orderlies to lift Elaine out of bed and change the sheets.

                She wanted to pace: she had paced, or waddled as she got heavier, when she had been on the basement floor, in her cell. The whole time, she had been in perfect health, despite the chill of the building. Her brain had not been all right, but she only dimly remembered the confusion that had propelled her to set the fire. However, she couldn’t raise her head without intense effort, so pacing was off the table.

                Footsteps sounded down the hallway, and the distinctive sound of a cane tapping linoleum. She turned her eyes to the door, and Gold stepped inside, her daughter in his arms.

                “Rose,” she said shakily, and Gold paused at the door, then hurried inside. Elaine’s bed was half propped up, so she could see them both, and he sat in the chair next to her, settling Rose on his knee. She smiled at her daughter, who gave a shrieking laugh and held her hands out, wriggling madly.

                “Mama!” she gurgled, and Elaine inched her hand closer to her daughter. Gold scooted the chair closer and set Rose gently on Elaine’s stomach, and then guided her arm to rest over her daughter.

                “Thank you,” she whispered, not taking her eyes from Rose’s glowing face. “You trust me?” Gold made a sharp noise.

                “I know you, and I know you’d never do anything to hurt Rose. Especially drugs.” Elaine giggled as Rose shook her mother’s arm, confused as to why she wasn’t moving.

                “It’s okay, Rose. Mama’s sick.” She puckered her lips and made a kissing sound. “I can give you ghost kisses.” She glanced over to Gold, who was watching Rose with a soft expression on his face. “Thanks,” she said, trying to sound as gracious as possible. “For watching her.”

                “It’s the least I can do,” he replied, tense. “She’s a wonderful girl.” Elaine looked back at Rose, wondering what to say. She nodded, slowly. She wasn’t as angry with him, now, not when Rose was clean and happy after days with him.

                “She looks fine.” Gold shifted in his seat and turned his eyes to the floor.

                “She missed her mother. But I found her a little bear to accompany the lion, and that was a good distraction.” Elaine beamed down as Rose hauled herself up the front of her mother’s chest.

                “She likes being read to. Don’t you, Rose?” She scrunched up her nose as Rose pressed an open palm to the tip. “You like reading about Lizard and Hare.”

                “What did you eat the night before you got sick?” Gold asked, quietly, but very interested. Elaine shrugged.

                “I don’t remember.” She frowned. “The mayor gave me some things of her son’s for Rose. I ate some of her dried apples before bed. They were good. I think I had spaghetti that night.” Nothing foreign, no fish, no sauces to make her sick. Gold’s face had gone very still, however, and she let herself be distracted from Rose’s cooing. He looked downright furious, his lips threatening to pull back and bare his teeth.

                “I will make sure that this is taken care of properly,” he said. “You might be glad to know that Kathryn Nolan is alive, and we do not have a murderer loose in town.”

                “Um. That we know of,” Elaine pointed out, and he snorted.

                “Cheerful as always.”

                “Practical,” she countered quickly, and blinked, looking away from the happy gleam in his eyes. They were bantering the way they had used to, the kind of words that had followed them upstairs and under covers. “I hope you’re right.” She was not the shop assistant anymore: she had Rose, and she was sick. Gold didn’t seem inclined to move away, or take Rose back to his house, and eventually Rose was sleeping against her side, and he had his head resting against the bed and her shoulder.

                “Elaine,” he said quietly, while she was half-drowsy and content, Rose snug at her side and his breath soft on her cheek.

                “Mm,” she acknowledged.

                “When you set the fire,” he was speaking slowly, with a buzz in his voice instead of his usual brusque tone. “Do you remember doing it?” She frowned, trying to collect her memories.

                “Of course,” she said doubtfully. “I mean, I know I did. I think they put schizophrenia down in my file.” She remembered the rough sides of the matchbox, the soft rustle of the wooden matches as they tumbled over each other in the box. And, very distinctly, she remembered the voice inside the fire, a young man’s voice, who’d cried out for help.

                “You’re not schizophrenic,” Gold said firmly, lifting his head and stroking her filthy hair. He was looking at her with something tender in his eyes, and she bit her lip, looked away, as she woke up fully. A soft look meant nothing: a shared moment meant nothing, either. “Once I straighten this out, Rose will be back to you, safe and sound.”

                Elaine frowned, curiosity piqued once more. He’d handled Rose so easily, with deft hands despite his cane and limp.

                “How do you know how to look after children?” she asked, and saw him _flinch_ at the question, draw inwards and grip the handle of his cane. He bowed his head and spoke half to the floor, half to Rose’s sleeping form.

                “I’ve been a father,” he said roughly, voice tight, and Elaine nodded, unsure how to respond. Had his child died? Had they fallen out? The idea of losing Rose was a specter, a nightmare, no matter how it might come to pass. Her brief days alone, sedated, had been wretched while she was sensible. And he had lived through that, and still managed to look after another baby. The knowledge shouldn’t soften her towards him, but it did, because his pain was hers, and she thought she only felt a fragment of it. No wonder the sight of Rose had undone him so: another child, one he’d sort of lost before he’d known her.

                That was probably why he was being kind again: for Rose, not for her. Sudden fear gripped her, and she struggled to grab his wrist.

                “You won’t keep her from me,” she said hoarsely, wide awake. “You can’t.” He was Rose’s father: perhaps if the law decided she was a poor mother, Gold would take her. “Just because—just because you’re taking care of her now—you can’t—“ she couldn’t even force the words out in her panic, just shook and clutched his wrist.

                “Elaine,” he said, voice calm, forcing her to calm down. “I know. I won’t. She’s your daughter, all right? I understand.” She frowned, wondering why they could never have a conversation that wasn’t carried out under the worst possible conditions.

                “Before, you said I had no right to keep her from you,” she said. She was an idiot, for bringing that up, when he might change his mind, but she was so tired, especially of misunderstanding. If he would say his piece and be done, she could rest. “What do you want from me?” His eyes turned sad, and he fidgeted with his cane.

                “Elaine—for now, let’s just worry about getting you back home safely. I don’t want anything you aren’t willing to give.” That was a lie, that last bit, but she let it pass. Trying to wish that they could talk once and straighten everything out was foolish, especially when Gold was a coward and she was weak.

                Weak in the head, weak in the heart, with weak convictions and now a weak body. She couldn’t even lift her own hand to hold her daughter. She couldn’t even lift her head. Gold cleared his throat, glancing at the untouched tray of food on the table behind him.

                “What have you been eating?” he asked. She made a noncommittal sound.

                “Not much. The nurses have to help me, and I don’t have an appetite. And I haven’t been awake very often.” Gold plucked a plastic cup of jello from the table and sniffed it.

                “At least eat this?” he suggested.

                “When the nurse comes back,” she said. The younger one, Melanie, was sweet, and seemed familiar. Gold tsked, and scooped a little of the quivering orange gelatin onto the spoon from the tray.

                “Now,” he said, with an attempt at a smile, and Elaine made herself nod. She didn’t feel humiliated, though, when he brought the spoon to her lips: he was businesslike, silent, and unpitying, with warmth in his eyes. It felt like resting in bed with him, like singing to Rose, and after two thirds of the cup was gone, she had to squeeze her eyes shut against tears and tell him she was done.

                If only he wasn’t so afraid, she thought, and if only she could let herself trust him again. Because she wanted to, wanted to tell him to cuddle up to her and Rose, that she still loved him. But love and trust and reality all lived very far apart, and Elaine could not grasp all three.

                So when Rose woke up, Elaine gave her a kiss on the cheek and Gold walked out with her, talking baby-nonsense all the while. Elaine closed her eyes, unable to watch Rose be taken away—even if she could trust Gold to care for her—and unwilling to see if Gold looked back at her. She still had the sheriff and the mayor and the doctor to face, now that she was awake, and she had to do it alone: no Gold, no Rose, just her.

                When they came, not long after, her stomach was not quite empty, and she felt less dizzy and sleepy than she had since she’d been home. All three of them looked unsettled and preoccupied, but Emma smiled at her and Regina curled her lips up in her best attempt at one. Dr. Whale always had his half-smile on, so she couldn’t take any clues from that.

                “Elaine,” Emma said soothingly. She seated herself on the chair Gold had recently vacated and cast a hard look at the mayor. “I’d like to talk with Miss French and Dr. Whale alone, if you don’t mind.” The mayor’s smile left her face in a moment, Elaine noticed: she was downright glaring at the sheriff.

                “I don’t see why you need to do that,” she said sweetly. “I was the last person to speak with Miss French: I could be useful.” Emma sighed and tilted her head, eyes hard.

                “Because I’m the sheriff, and I’d like to question her without any bias.” Regina nodded deliberately and addressed Elaine.

                “If you want me to come back, just let me know,” she said sweetly, and swept out, heels clicking. Dr. Whale shut the door and held up a clipboard.

                “Elaine, as you know, we found all sorts of contaminants in your blood, but because of recent errors in the lab, I’m hesitant to take those tests at face value.” Elaine blinked, then felt hope rear up and bring some life into her veins.

                “You believe me?” she asked. The doctor tilted his head, unwilling to commit.

                “There’s still the matter of how you got so sick: but you have no history of drug abuse, even with the rest of your maladies, and Rose is in perfect health. I’d like to keep you here until you’re up to walking and looking after Rose.” He made a face. “I know you hate it here, but I have to make sure you’re not going to collapse the moment you’re out of here.”

                “Okay,” she said faintly. Whale nodded, then glanced at Emma.

                “I have to go check on Mrs. Nolan. Don’t ask anything upsetting.” He didn’t wait for a reply, and Elaine watched him stalk out, shuffling the papers on his clipboard. The sheriff smiled awkwardly at her.

                “I will need to ask you some upsetting things,” she said apologetically. Elaine tried to shrug, managed it, and Emma glanced down at her hands. “Have you ever done any drugs?”

                “No,” she said firmly. “I was never even on antipsychotics, because I was pregnant.” The sheriff nodded.

                “I looked through your records, but I’d like you to tell me the history of why you were committed to the asylum.” Elaine closed her eyes and concentrated hard on the memories.

                “I heard a voice in the fire: a man calling out for help. I set the fire, and someone saw me, and I was put in the hospital.” She couldn’t remember, not really. She’d set the fire. She knew she had. They had found a matchbox in her hand. She told Emma as much, and the other woman only pursed her lips.

                “Do you remember lighting the match?” she asked. Elaine shook her head no, after a few moments. There were holes in her recollection.

                “I was insane,” she reminded Emma. “That’s why they didn’t put me in jail.”

                “The hospital didn’t feel as bad as jail to you?” Emma said softly, and Elaine looked away.

                “I’ve never been to jail. I was alone a lot in the basement.”

                “Prison—well, I wasn’t alone too often,” Emma said, and touched her arm comfortingly. “But you were released after Rose was born?”

                “I had some savings, and I got my apartment back and started working.”

                “You never had any other symptoms of schizophrenia except for that incident?” Elaine wondered why Emma kept pressing the point.

                “While I was in the cell—I don’t remember all of it,” she said. “It’s full of holes.”

                “When did you move away from your father’s house?” Elaine snorted: this was a very clear memory.

                “Well, I didn’t move out,” she said, hoping Emma would find her tone humorous instead of pathetic. “Technically, he kicked me out when I wouldn’t agree to give up or abort Rose.” Emma jerked her head back, looking angry.

                “Really?” she said, tone surprised. “He didn’t seem so forceful when I was talking to him.”

                “He really hates Gold,” she said. “He’s never asked to see Rose, though if he has to he will talk to me.” Emma shook her head, rose, and paced about the room. There was more on her mind than Elaine’s pathetic and maudlin history. “My assets were linked with his, so a lot of my paycheck from Gold went to paying off _his_ debts. So he’s upset because I got to know Gold through something that was his fault,” she explained. Why her father had to take out his frustration on her, she couldn’t fathom. Why Gold had to deal with his self-loathing by beating her father was also a mystery.

                “Er,” Emma said, looking at her hands again. “This is going to sound so bad, especially since he’s looking after Rose, but I have to ask.” Elaine could see the question forming on her lips, the question that everyone would be wondering now—if Ruby knew, everyone knew—and braced herself. “Your relationship with Gold—was it in any way motivated by the fact that you were in his debt?”

                “No,” she said. “It really wasn’t—I know it’s hard for people to understand how I could choose him, but it’s complicated. Love is—love is layered.” Some of the layers were anger and loss and separation, but she wasn’t confused about whether she loved him. Lately, she had even begun to think maybe it wasn’t terrible or tragic that she did.


	9. Take My Hand And Cradle It In Your Hands

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What do you mean, I haven't updated since August? Surely not.

                Elaine had two more days in the hospital, Dr. Whale said, but she had to be released into the care of someone who could make sure she wasn’t going to fall over at the slightest rise in the road. To make sure she wasn’t using drugs, as well, despite the sheriff’s opinion that she was innocent, merely sick. In truth, she knew that that was a good idea. She could sit up and hold Rose for a short while when Gold brought her, and her head didn’t roll and ache terribly at the slightest movement anymore, but she was weak.

                “There’s more than enough room for the both of you,” Gold said cautiously, after she relayed this news to him, and she smiled, shaking Rose’s lion out of her reach, making her daughter squeal as she attempted to raise her body up to it. He lifted one corner of his mouth cautiously back at her.

                “I’ve seen your house,” she said drily. “Are you sure you want us there?” He nodded quickly, and put his hand next to hers, not touching, but close.

                “Of course I want you there. Rose’s things are already there. I don’t want you to come if you don’t want to, but I know you hate it here.” She nodded ruefully as he gestured at the hospital walls. She wondered grimly where Jefferson could have gone:  he would certainly have room for them, and wait hand and foot upon Rose at least. Apparently he had been serious when he said he was going to be unavailable, because she hadn’t seen even his top-hatted figure disappearing around corners and trees in town: his one sobbing visit had been all she had seen of him.

                “Well, we’ll go home with you then,” she said swiftly, and his eyes widened, and he smiled properly, though still with a hunted edge.

                “Good.” His voice was rough as he sat back, and Elaine watched as he twirled his cane about in his fingers, and tried to remember if she had seen that gesture before. “Rose sleeps well,” he said, and there was a note of fondness in his voice that should put her back up. Elaine couldn’t quite manage it, though: she still loved him, after all, no matter how unfair and cruel he’d been, and that he loved their daughter shook tears to her eyes if she didn’t catch herself. After all, her poor child had no grandfather, no aunts or uncles or siblings. Rose deserved a father as she did a mother, even if neither were quite up to the task.

                “Did you bring her crib from my apartment?” she asked, and to her surprise, Gold shook his head.

                “Just the blankets and sheets: I have a crib.” Elaine puffed out a breath through her nose—not quite a snort, but nearly.

                “Of course you do.”

                “I have everything,” he teased, and waved a finger at her. “I put it in the room next to mine, so I could hear her in the night. She doesn’t wake often.”

                “What do you do during the day?” she asked raggedly. Of course he had room for Rose to sleep on her own. He had a crib, and new toys to give her. He had everything she had, but better, and the old fear that he might try and take Rose away woke up again and made her heart hammer. Gold didn’t notice the panic rising in her eyes, simply watching Rose chew on an ear of her lion.

                “I shortened the shop’s hours, but she comes with me, and stays in the playpen. She likes the park, too.” Elaine nodded shortly.

                “Good,” she said thickly. “I’m glad she’s happy.” She brushed at her nose with her sleeve, and stared fixedly at Rose, trying to force down the envy and anger and love all warring in her throat. It wasn’t quite possible, and she felt a few tears make their way down her cheeks; Elaine clenched her teeth and concentrated hard on not sobbing. It all went to waste when Rose gingerly touched the tear tracks and pronounced,

                “Mama!” very proudly. Gold looked at her, and his face drew in and crumpled in the space of a breath. In turn, Elaine felt her body jerk with a sob, and brought her hands to her face as Rose made a distressed sound. She felt her daughter’s weight leave the bed, then heard Gold making soothing sounds.

                “Elaine, what’s the matter?” he asked, and finally took her hand in his, pulling it from her face.  She rubbed angrily at her eyes, sniffing strongly and willing her lungs to obey her.

                “You have everything you need to make her happy, and g-give her a g-good life! You don’t even h-have to t-try!” Her voice was high and cracked, but she couldn’t bring it to normal levels, and her head was staring to throb once more. Gold gripped her hand so tightly in both of his that it hurt a little, and she blinked through her stupid tears to see him looking stricken.

                “No, Elaine. I don’t have you, okay? She needs you, and you have done everything right.” He looked fiercely at her, then lowered his head over her hand and kissed it. The gesture made her breath catch, and she couldn’t even squeeze his hand in acknowledgement. He had never done anything like that, she thought. Maybe he had, near the beginning, when they were still new lovers and he had been in a playful mood.

                “Okay,” she said, and was glad when he took Rose out for a moment, to “show her the hospital,” and blew her nose and wiped her eyes until she had herself under control. Her daughter’s eyes still lit up every time she spotted Elaine, so that was good. She and Gold would do well with her—that was another thought that she hadn’t meant to have.

                When they left, she tapped his arm for a moment, and looked down at the bed, at the very interesting lumps of her legs under the blue blanket, as she spoke.

                “You’re doing a good job,” she said, and pulled at a stray thread. “You’ll be a good father.” He stood for a moment, and she looked up, to see tears sliding down his face this time, and Rose dabbing curiously at them in turn.

                “After you’re better, still?” he said, and she nodded, giving him a firm, small smile.

                “I hope so,” she said, small-voiced, and thought that she had never imagined he had enough tears in him for the last few weeks. “Off with you,” she chided, and the sudden solitude was enough to lull her to fitful sleep.

                The morning of her discharge, the young nurse Melanie came with a wheelchair and a towel, and announced that they were going to the showers to wash her hair. She was much friendlier, now that it seemed Elaine was not a drug addict, and Elaine had caught her peeking in a few times when Gold brought Rose, eyes soft and happy.

                She finally brought it up as she pushed Elaine down the hallway.

                “Your daughter is very cute,” she said, sounding wistful. Elaine looked over her shoulder. The tall young woman had a dreamy look in her hazel eyes.

                “Do you have any children?” she asked, though she was sure of the answer already. Melanie laughed and shook her head.

                “Oh, no, not yet! I am waiting for the right father, I guess. But I am very excited for when it is time.” She paused, and Elaine felt the chair slow. “I don’t mean to judge you—I’m not saying you should have not—never mind. I’m sorry,” she babbled. “I’m an idiot.”

                “Don’t worry about me,” Elaine said, and with the quiet promise of love not in vain, and maybe some more love for Rose, a reminder that would have been harsh a few months ago rolled off. “You see I’ve found the father once more.” Melanie made a noise that could have signified anything, and resumed the journey to the bathroom. It was echoey inside, and steamy from someone else’s shower. Elaine smiled at the blissful warmth, punctuated by thin drafts from the cracked window.

                “Mr. Gold is kind of scary,” she said, tonelessly. “But he is very gentle when he holds Rose.” Elaine could finally stand to help the girl pull off her gown, but had to sit again almost immediately. Melanie turned on the water and let it run over Elaine’s hair, and she smiled, trying to lift her hands to work it in. “No, you’re fine,” Melanie chided. “Just sit tight.” The shampoo she had smelled like artificial lemon, but no doubt that was far better than the oily mess that her hair was now. “I brought you some conditioner, your hair is so thick I thought it would be a good idea.”

                “Thank you,” Elaine said. This must have been the nurse’s own, because it was thick and silky where her hair brushed against her shoulders, and smelled pleasantly of mint and rose. She took the washcloth and shower gel from Melanie and washed her own skin, managing to stand for a few minutes to clean her back.

                “Don’t hesitate to call the hospital if you feel like you shouldn’t be out on your own,” Melanie said, as she wrapped Elaine in towels and wheeled her quickly back to the room. “Hey, someone dropped off your clothes.” Elaine smiled and managed to sit on the bed and dress herself slowly, while the nurse drew a comb through her hair. She felt better in her own shirt and skirt and shoes.

                “I think I’ll be okay. I’m not going to be alone, and I am coming back for a check-up in less than a week,” she reminded Melanie. For all that the nurse was nice when she was around, Elaine still despised the hospital, and would be happy to never return.

                “I know, I just meant if you didn’t feel safe…” she trailed off, taking her hands from Elaine’s hair as the mayor walked in, an odd expression on her face.

                “Hello, Mayor Mills,” she said. “Miss French has just signed her discharge papers, so I think any legal concerns have to be brought to the sheriff.” Regina folded her arms.

                “Thank you. I just want a word with Miss French while she waits to be retrieved.” Melanie nodded, and all but fled. Elaine bristled, and drew herself up as best as she could, with her skirt rumpled and creased from being put on clumsily, and her hair wet and half-brushed.

                “No one’s _retrieving_ me,” she said sourly. Regina nodded, amused.

                “Of course not. I must say I’m surprised you’re going back to the man who abandoned you, but I guess you don’t have a choice, what with your lease.” Elaine tensed.

                “What do you mean?” Regina looked surprised, and Elaine realized that it was completely feigned, and felt afraid.

                “Well, Mr. Bear, your landlord, has a very strict policy on criminals and drug use regarding his tenants.” Elaine bit her lip and gripped the side of her bed tightly.

                “I’m sure I’ll get it back soon enough. Nothing’s been proven, after all.” The confidence in Regina’s eyes didn’t waver, and she wondered why the other woman was so intent on making her upset. “Is there anything you wanted to say?”

                “Just that I hope you come to me if you ever need help. As mayor, I’m quite dedicated to rehabilitating criminals and helping women like you get back on their feet.” Elaine kept staring right back at her, wondering why the woman needed to bully when she had money and power and influence.

                The sound of a child’s laugh interrupted the moment, and Elaine, who for months had dreaded the sound of a cane tapping on the floor, nearly laughed to hear it. Mr. Gold saw the mayor before he saw Elaine, and his face tightened.

                “Good morning, madam mayor,” he said crisply. “If you don’t mind, I think you’re blocking the door.” Regina moved aside slightly, giving a syrupy smile to Rose.

                “What a sweet child,” she said, and lifted a hand towards Rose’s cheek.

                “Don’t, _please_ ,” Gold snarled at her, bringing his cane off the floor. “She’s rather sensitive to _apple._ ” Regina pressed her carefully reddened lips together, pretended to adjust her skirt, and gave Elaine a last look.

                “Let me know if you need help,” she said again, and walked away, heels clicking. Gold frowned after her.

                “Is she upsetting you?” he asked. Elaine reached out to take Rose for a moment, bouncing her daughter on her legs.

                “I think she can’t make up her mind to threaten me or offer me help,” she said. It was puzzling. Gold, instead of looking alarmed, laughed.

                “I expect that actually reflects quite well on you,” he said. “She’s under some stress from the sheriff, isn’t on top of her game.” He sounded pleased about the political turmoil, and glanced at the wheelchair. “I think I need one of the nurses to wheel you out.” His voice was quiet, and Elaine watched his knuckles turn white around the handle of his cane.

                “I’d like to hold Rose, though,” she said, and lowered herself into the chair. Her months of holding her daughter while hauling groceries, cooking, and working paid off, and she didn’t even teeter as her body adjusted to the weight. Gold simply stalked out of the room and barked something into the hallway. Elaine saw that Rose was clutching a soft toy: a bear, as Gold had mentioned, instead of her lion. It was small enough for her to clench easily in her little fist, and the fabric, when Elaine rubbed her fingers over it, was fleece. The neat little thing was made of matched fabric, but looked just as handmade as Jefferson’s lion.

                She held Rose tightly to her as they descended in the elevator, Gold looking pensive, not even smiling down at Rose, but glaring off at nothing. Elaine found it half comforting; he had spent most of his time looking off into the distance angrily or at least silently when she had known him before.

                The cold of the spring air came like a welcoming, waking slap to Elaine’s body, used to the warmth of the hospital. She inhaled deeply, trying to ignore the freezing air against her wet tresses, and felt like she was cleaning her lungs out, even in the relative freshness of the parking lot. The orderly who had taken charge of the wheelchair helped her into the front seat of Gold’s car, and she twisted round to see him tucking Rose into a carseat, long hair falling into his face and Rose’s hands. He hissed and pried her fists away, waggling the bear before her, and finished with the seat. Elaine wasn’t even surprised that he hadn’t had trouble with finding that, either.

                “The bear was very nice of you,” she said. “She seems to like it.” He shrugged, starting the car and pulling smoothly away from the hospital.

                “It was nothing, just another amusement for her. She prefers her lion.” Elaine glanced back at Rose.

                “She’s taken well to the car.”

                “Ah, you say that now, dearie, but she screamed like a banshee the first time!” He was back into his teasing mode, eyes flicking between the road and her. Elaine hadn’t been in a car in what felt like ages, either—since the rush to the hospital over Ashley—and she watched Storybrooke slip by, greener than a week ago.

                They didn’t pass by her apartment, but Elaine wanted to simply sit down somewhere soft and warm and _not moving_ , because she was growing a little nauseous. When Gold finally pulled into his driveway, she opened the door hurriedly, gulping in the fresh, steadying air, but wincing at the chill.

                “Will you get Rose?” she asked, putting her head in her hands. Instead, he came over to where she was bent over, lifting her chin.

                “You need to lie down,” he said. “And eat something not cooked in a cafeteria.” He glanced at the sidewalk and steps. “Can you walk?” She nodded, shivered again, and found the house key in her hand and his jacket around her shoulders. He was walking around to Rose once more, and Elaine reminded herself that she had to stand up to go someplace warm.

                Walking up the steps and unlocking the door were easy, her hands spurred by cold and tiredness, but the scent of the house hit her like a blow to the stomach. Dusty lavender, allspice and paprika from the kitchen, leather, the crisp, aromatic flavors of mint and oregano from sprigs in a jar on the hallway, and the cool, almost unnoticeable scent of old, cared-for cloth and paper. Elaine sagged against the wall, trying to forget the last time she’d been here, when he’d shouted, shoved her bodily out the door, and slammed it behind her. She took a deep breath and set her jaw. She had cried enough in the past few days.

                Gold gave her a look as he came in with Rose, setting her down on the floor. Elaine watched her inch along on her belly, and smiled a little to see that he’d moved things out of her reach and tied cabinets shut with string.

                “All right?” he said. She nodded, shortly.

                “It’s odd to be back.” It took an instant to realize that he hadn’t thought of this, and his body went perfectly still, eyes wide, as if she would bolt. “I’m okay,” she said, and glanced around. Things were mostly the same, the furniture all in the same places, and the only difference was that the china was on higher shelves now. Elaine let him take her arm and guide her to a chair, draping a blanket over her.

                “Tea?” he asked. “Food?” Elaine closed her eyes, blissful at sitting down once more, and nodded.

                He brought the tea, as promised, and some pasta, and she moved from the living room to the kitchen for that, leaning on a cane he brought. It helped, for all that it irked her to use. The noodles and sauce were much better than the hospital’s attempt, and watching Gold feed Rose, sleeves rolled to his elbows, was a sight. She couldn’t do much more than doze through the afternoon, rousing at Rose’s attentions, and discovering that as long as she wasn’t obviously watching, Gold was more than confident with her daughter. He bounced her and swung her around, and his limp hardly seemed to make a difference. When he saw her looking, he went diffident and hesitant.

                By the time it was evening, and Rose was to be put to bed, she was much more wakeful, and restless in the house. She pressed a kiss to her daughter’s forehead, and wandered from her room in search of something to do. Gold’s bedroom was right next to where Rose slept, and she’d never set foot in any of the other bedrooms except in passing curiosity.

                “You can have any of the rooms you like,” Gold said, and she jumped a little, turning to see him at the end of the hallway. He could be quiet on the carpeted floors of his house. She nodded, hugging her arms to herself. “I made your landlord let me in for your clothes, and I have them in the room on the other side of Rose’s at the moment, but you can sleep anywhere you like.”

                “He just gave them to you?” she asked, irritated. She wished that she had let Jefferson act on some of his angrier impulses towards the greasy Mr. Bear, now.

                “Well, yes. I’m quite intimidating,” he said, and smiled a little. Elaine smiled back, helplessly.

                “Oh, yes, with a baby in your arms, I’m sure you were,” she returned. She glanced towards her new room. It would do well. “Thank you for helping us,” she managed to grate out. “Rose needed—I needed someone else to help me.”

                “I’m not much,” Gold said, eyes downcast. “Don’t thank me. I owe both of you more than I can ever repay.” Elaine dragged her foot along the floor, watching his face.

                “You say you still love me,” she said shakily. “Why did you throw me out, then?” He looked up to meet her eyes, and she nearly had to look away, meters apart though they were.

                “I was afraid,” he said roughly. “That loving would make me weak.” Elaine nodded, and bit her lip, fighting a few tears.

                “I’m glad you’re back with us,” she said haltingly. She wanted to reach out and hug him, tell him he’d never lost her love, but a year and a half of solitude brought her up short. Regret wasn’t a recipe for immediate trust.

                “As am I,” he said, and turned away. She walked into her room: as he had said, all her things were there, folded neatly and still smelling like her apartment. She shrugged into a nightgown, then tugged a sweater over. She wasn’t tired yet: her body was weary, as usual, but after a day of drowsing, her mind was practically fizzing with energy, and her heart was still aching with loss and love. She checked in on Rose again, who was now sleeping peacefully in her crib, and wandered into the living room. Gold was sitting on the couch in the living room, frowning, his hands busy with needle and thread. Elaine sat down next to him, and he looked over at her, saying nothing. The silence was welcome between them, and she remembered easy quiet in his bed, on this couch, with only a small pang. The scent of the house was almost normal, now.

                She wondered if it was good, how easily she slipped back into the halls and rooms of Gold’s home, how natural it felt to stretch out, tug a blanket over herself, and rest her head on his leg. His hand drifted down to sweep past her face, slide over her hair. They remained in silence for a long time, and Elaine felt his leg muscles tense and relax a few times under her face.

                “I’m glad you’re back home,” he said at last, a sleepy note in his voice, and she felt her heart skip a few times. She wasn’t home, not for sure, but a glance at his half-asleep face, the sewing drooping from his fingers, prompted her to simply say,

                “Me too,” and fall asleep, properly, next to him.


	10. Vows and Sorry Whispers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy new update

                Elaine woke up after unsettling dreams about wandering dark hallways, and found herself on the couch, face stuck to the leather. Gold was nowhere to be seen, but when she sat up, brushing off the blanket on her shoulders, she saw his sewing lying on the table. He must have gone to bed and managed to not wake her. She squinted in the dim light seeping in from the entranceway to the house: there was a faint light still on there, though the windows were all black. Sunrise was far away.

                She made her way on careful feet to her new room, sliding under cold covers and wishing she had brought the blanket with her: it would still be warm. The sheets smelled like detergent and lavender, and she curled up, the familiar scent and texture unnerving in this new context. Gold should be cuddled up next to her, nuzzling his nose into the back of her neck. She didn’t want that again, not in any definite way, but it felt wrong to not have it while everything else smelled so right.

                The room was light when she woke to Rose crying, and she hurried out of bed, dragging a sweater on and nearly colliding with Gold at the door. It was probably nearly seven; she had lost her internal clock, which had woken her unfailingly at six every morning until she fell ill. Rose settled easily, preferring Elaine’s arms to her crib, and Gold hung back in the doorway, uncertain.

                “I’ll make breakfast,” he said, and left Elaine to change Rose and dress her. Gold’s house was far warmer than their apartment, so she forwent the heavier sweaters and handed Rose her lion after dressing her.

                Breakfast proved to be eggs, bacon, and oatmeal with apples, with the distinctive scent of rye bread toasting a promise as well. Gold had already made Rose’s plate up, with her eggs neatly shredded and buttered toast in small squares. She ate in an old white-painted wooden high chair, crushing most of it in her fist and shoving it very haphazardly into her mouth. Elaine nodded in thanks when Gold placed a small bowl of oatmeal and a steaming plate of eggs and bacon to her right, out of Rose’s reach, and dug in.

                She was hungrier than she expected, with her health nearly restored and food not cooked in the hospital kitchen presented to her, and finished before Rose, who kept being distracted by Elaine’s presence.

                “Did you get the papers from my apartment as well?” she asked. Gold nodded, to her relief. She had a lot to get through, and no doubt most of them would be irritated at her late reports. Thankfully, the rush of tax season was over, and now all she had to worry about was the general stuff. “I’ll need to look over those today.”

                “You should rest,” he argued, and she narrowed her eyes.

                “I’m fine,” she said. “I know you need to open the shop, and Rose and I will be fine here.” She chucked her daughter gently under the chin. “Won’t we, sweet pea?” Rose clapped her hands and shrieked loudly, and Elaine pushed another portion of egg onto her tray, urging her to eat.

                Gold was dressed already, and he took his cane from where it was hooked over the counter, then hesitantly limped over to Rose, and slowly lowered his head to kiss her on the nose. She responded with a giggle and a sticky hand against his cheek.

                “Have a good day,” he said softly, and Elaine waved him good-bye, feeling quite odd about everything. Being here ought to mean that she would be heading to work with him, and having Rose again meant that she should be in their chilly apartment, going through receipts.

                Well, she could go through them here, and she set Rose down to play with her two animals on the floor, finding the file folders in the corner of her room, next to her clothes. The kitchen table, once she wiped it off, was perfect for working on, and though she was exhausted by twelve, she had a neat list of Felix Fallon’s copious bills and outstanding tabs to send him.

                Mr. Gold’s house was on a wide lawn, and despite the risk of any odd looks that might come, she took Rose outside to play after lunch. It was a warm day, and Rose dragged her lion, getting it quite dusty, as she crawled along, inspecting every other blade of grass. Elaine sank down onto the ground to watch her, reprimanding her tired body. If she couldn’t stay awake to look after Rose, that was a poor lookout. So as soon as she felt her eyes sliding shut, she got to her feet, took Rose, and carried her inside, despite her wailing.

                “You need a nap anyway,” she said, wiping her hands and face with a washcloth and tucking her protesting daughter into her crib. Her crying had stopped by the time Elaine kicked her own shoes off and washed her own hands, and she crawled on top of her bed and fell asleep before she could maneuver under the covers.

                She woke up, feeling dizzy and more tired than before, when the door opened and the tap of Gold’s cane sounded on the floorboards. Elaine sat up, tried to stand, and promptly lost her vision in a blur of white and tan. She sank to the floor of the room, leaned her head against the bed, and tried to tame her roiling stomach and aching head.

                “I’m in here,” she said, trying to sound reassuring, but only managed reedy and hoarse. Gold stepped inside in a few moments, looking dismayed to see her on the floor. “Sorry, I was having a nap, and now I feel worse.”

                “Where’s Rose?” he asked sharply, but extended his hand to help her into sitting on the bed instead of next to it.

                “In her crib, asleep,” she said breathlessly, irritated at his apparent worry that she might have left Rose to crawl about.

                “We’ll leave her for a moment then.” He offered her his good arm and a nervous smile. “Can you walk?”

                The trek to the kitchen was a little unsteady, with her dizziness and his limp, but she was seated more or less securely at the table soon enough, while Gold filled a pot with water and set a box of noodles on the counter.

                “I have alfredo, marinara, and tomato basil sauce in jars,” he said, stooping down to one of the cabinets.

                “Any is fine,” she said, and he set the alfredo to heat on the stove as well. He didn’t ask how her day had been, simply glared at the water, and Elaine fiddled with the salt shaker. He was usually surly and silent—she remembered—but lately he’d been so careful around her that that aspect of him had retreated to the back of her thoughts. “Are you all right?” she asked cautiously. He made a careful _hmm_ noise and then shrugged slightly.

                “Much to be done. A lot to think about.” There wouldn’t be any more answer than that, and when Rose stirred, squalling from her room, she let Gold go get her. Likely he was used to doing so, over the last few days.

                He didn’t sew that evening, just watched as she read to Rose and glowered to himself. He softened a little when a sleepy Rose crawled over to him and gripped his trouser leg, and Elaine thought he looked terribly sad.

                The next morning, she was determined not to feel so bad, and settled down with a book from his shelves for the early part of the morning. Rose was turning stir-crazy by ten, so she found the stroller tucked into a corner of the laundry room, plopped Rose into it, and turned them towards the center of town, adding a water bottle and some snacks to the little basket.

                The walk was considerably longer from Gold’s house, and Elaine felt she had walked past every possible variation on ‘large house with tree in front’ by the time they were walking down Main Street. It felt good to be back to at least part of her old routine, and though she didn’t see Jefferson, she kept an eye out for him. She was pleasantly surprised to see Dr. Hopper out for a lunchtime walk with his dog, and Rose squealed in glee at the return of her friend, grabbing for his ears as in old times.

                In all, the day was passing well, and she even dared to stop by Granny’s for a small treat. She shouldn’t waste money on pastries, she knew, when she didn’t officially have a place to live nor an official income to support the purchase of chocolate doughnuts. Still, it was nice to see Ruby—in a plaid shirt and reasonably modest jeans—and take a cup of free tea in the spirit of old times. Old times being a few weeks ago, of course.

                “Glad to see you’re better!” she said brightly, and waved at Rose. “And I’m glad I didn’t do her any damage before Gold took her.” She waggled an eyebrow at Elaine, but not in an unkind way, and didn’t press the issue further. Elaine found herself less glad than she expected about that: she would have liked to talk through her feelings with someone before she went ahead and tried to talk them through with Gold.

                Rose was quite worn out after their excursion, and fell asleep with her head pillowed on her bear on a blanket on the living room floor. Elaine walked about the house, straightened her things, and went through all the rooms collecting laundry. She determinedly didn’t look through Gold’s things, simply took his basket of clothes and tossed the shirts into the washer, only caving in and sniffing one. He smelled the same: a little piney, a little like seaside grass, and utterly appealing.

                She chastised herself and went to sulk childishly on the sofa, wishing she could be sure that telling him ‘I still love you’ wouldn’t be a horrible mistake. The last time she’d dared, he’d thrown her out, but since then, he’d said he loved her, confessed his fear, and taken care of Rose. It was an unpleasant train of thought that left her fretting and pacing.

                The phone rang, and she picked it up for the sake of the distraction.

                “Gold residence,” she ventured.

                “Oh, good. Elaine,” Gold sounded distracted, excited on the other end. “I may be back quite late this evening, don’t wait for dinner or wait up or anything.”

                “I—okay,” she agreed. “What--” He had already hung up from his shop, and she frowned at the phone, then set it back into the wall. At least he’d called.

                She cooked rice and pan fried vegetables, wishing she’d thought to take out some of the frozen meat from the freezer. She didn’t cook meat very often: it was too expensive, but Gold certainly had plenty, and some ground beef to accompany her peppers and carrots would have been nice.

                She ate them all together and tried to convince Rose that mashed carrots were as appealing as her buttery rice, only to have her daughter stick her tongue out and reject them.

                “Your father has been spoiling you,” she determined. “You need to learn to eat vegetables as well as eggs and bread.”

                The bathtub was clean and for once, she did not have to compete with anyone for the hot water, so she gave Rose a bath before bed, letting her play with a wooden building block while she washed her.

                She didn’t exactly mean to stay up for Gold, but she ended up making herself an herbal tea and putting on a movie after a shower of her own, and woke up when the door opened with a gust of cool air. She must have fallen asleep on the couch again: the television screen was blue. Her movie must have run out a while ago.

                “Gold?” she asked cautiously, and heard him shut the door more loudly than usual. It was past midnight, and she cast off her blanket, hurrying to the door. His hair was a little mussed, and even in the dim light of the house entrance, she could tell he had been crying. “Are you all right?” She put a cautious hand on his arm, and he jerked away, shedding his leather gloves: they were dirty, dropping dust and mud onto the floor as he dropped them.

                “Fine,” he said roughly, and she followed him into the living room, catching at his arm again.

                “Please, tell me what’s wrong,” she said. She steered him into sitting down on the couch and sat next to him, watching him clench and unclench his fingers.

                “Just someone thought they could put one over on me and get away with it,” he said, and she leaned over his lap to untie his shoes and ease them off. He couldn’t relax in all his layers of armor. “All taken care of.”

                “Mmm,” she said, and put an arm around his shoulder. He stiffened, and she felt him turn his head to look at her, though she stared determinedly at the opposite, afraid of spooking him further. “We went for a walk this morning, and Rose was very glad to see Dr. Hopper’s dog again,” she ventured, laying her head against his shoulder.

                “Insufferable man,” Gold snapped, but he didn’t make to move away from her. They sat in silence for a very long time, until Elaine was exhausted, but Gold was still tense and shaky.

                Finally, he broke the silence, fisting his hands in his lap once more.

                “I had a son,” he started. Elaine nodded, and rubbed the back of his neck to calm him. She had known he was a father before, though no more than that. “And I drove him away, and I haven’t seen him since.” His voice was clear, and sharp: so cold that it was on the edge of shattering. “And—someone who wanted something—came into town—and said he was my son!” Elaine felt her stomach twist, and turned to wrap her arms all the way around him, tucking his face into her shoulder. He was crying properly now, and his hands clutched and released her sweater as if he didn’t know what to do with them.

                “Shhh,” she crooned, the way she did when she soothed Rose, and fought back her own tears. What a terrible thing to do. He should be tucked into bed, but she didn’t think moving him was tenable, so she simply took off his jacket, tie, and waistcoat, coaxed him into lying down on the couch, and dragged over an ottoman to support her back if she moved in the night. He was still shaking and not responding to anything except pressure to move in one direction or another, so she left a pitcher of water for the morning, laid the blanket over him, and climbed on so he was in between her and the couch back, safe and secure.

                Her position was a little tenuous, but she wouldn’t roll off in the night, and she drifted off rubbing circles on his back until his breathing evened.

                She woke up when he tried to move, and blinked to find a fair amount of sunlight in the room. Rose was still asleep, somehow, and she needed checking. Gold was looking down at her, a strange expression on his face, and she squeezed his hand.

                “I’m so sorry,” she said helplessly, and he gave her a weak nod. “I need to check on Rose,” she said, and eased her stiff body upright. Rose woke with a gentle prod and scrunched up her face at the intrusion, but she had slept long enough and needed changing besides.

                Gold was making breakfast as usual, and offered her a dish of applesauce for Rose.

                “Say thank you?” she prompted her daughter. “Give your father his due.” Gold dropped something on the stove that made a horrible sizzling noise, and turned around to stare at her. Elaine gave him a tentative smile. “If it’s okay?” He nodded, and turned quickly back to scrape off the stove.

                “More than okay,” he said, and when he sat down to join them, Elaine took his hand again and rubbed it gently.

                “I hope you find your son,” she said. “And we can all be a family together?” Her heart was beating up into her throat, and she dipped a spoon into the applesauce and slid it into Rose’s mouth to distract herself.

                “You’ll stay?” he said, and she turned to look at him, letting him take her fluttering hands this time. She nodded, keeping her tears in check.

                “I still love you,” she admitted, feeling as though she was saying something unspeakably heavy. His face crumpled up the way it had in the sheriff’s station, and he bent his head over her hand to kiss it fiercely.

                “Elaine,” he said. “Oh, sweetheart, I’m sorry.” She pressed her fingers to his lips, because thinking about everything he’d done would only make her afraid again, and she wanted to enjoy his hands holding her gently and his eyes shining for her.

                She eased back into the chair she’d vacated unknowingly, half out of his lap, and laughed damply at Rose’s mystified expression.

                “Mama!” she said worriedly, and Elaine wiped her tears away quickly, smiling.

                “No, it’s okay, Mama’s fine,” she said. “More applesauce,” she decided, and scooped more into the spoon.

                She had found another layer of Gold last night, one that was raw and painful, but she couldn’t be sorry. Not when his love and fear ran so deep and close together, and drew out what was left of her courage. Not all of her forgiveness and trust, not yet, but it was the start of a road they could walk together.


	11. My Own True Love

                Elaine didn’t know exactly what still being in love with Gold would entail, after she told him so. She still slept in her room, with Rose between them, but in the evenings he would sit close to her, so their shoulders touched while they worked or read. He seemed frustrated when he came home, most days, but picked Rose up and bounced her until the both of them were laughing. Elaine felt like he was deliberately giving her space, waiting for her to make the first move.

                She had already made the first move, though, because she had told him how she felt. Another move would take gathering more courage, and she wasn’t sure she had it. A week after she was discharged, she was more or less restored to normal, and the sheriff wanted to talk with her again: that would take her courage, for the moment.

                Emma watched Gold take Rose as Elaine twisted her hands together, waiting for the sheriff to begin. She’d agreed to meet at Granny’s, in the corner booth reserved for couples most of the time. It was public, a safe space, but secluded enough that no one would eavesdrop without being noticed. And Gold pacing about with Rose near them had Granny herself glaring at him: he must be bad for business.

                “So, I’m sorry to bring this all up again, but your files aren’t exactly confidential, since you committed a crime.” Elaine smiled weakly and nodded. “I’m not worried about your guilt over the drugs: there’s someone going through the hospital and altering things.” Emma drummed her fingers on the tabletop. “I’m just going to guess you had some bad food poisoning at the time.”

                “Actually,” Elaine said timidly. “I don’t mean to accuse anyone, but I know Mr. Gold sort of—reacted—when I mentioned something to him in the hospital.” Emma raised her eyebrows.

                “And you’re still living with him?” Elaine gasped, horrified at Emma’s jump to conclusions.

                “No, no no no! I don’t think he’d ever do anything. I said that the only thing I ate was some spaghetti and sauce, that night, and a bag of dried apples, from the mayor. She gave me some books at the same time, for Rose.” Emma’s face went very still and interested, and Elaine bit her lip. She had no reason to cast suspicion upon Regina, except that she had been unpleasant when Elaine was a patient. “I mean, perhaps because she makes them herself, something spoiled?”

                “Yeah,” Emma said, slowly. “Yeah, that could be it.” She didn’t sound remotely convinced, and Elaine shifted in her seat.

                “But you wanted to ask something else?”

                “There were no witnesses when you set the fire, right?” Elaine nodded.

                “I think Sheriff Graham found me,” she said, nibbling her lip. Emma pressed her lips together and looked away. “He would come see a lot, in the hospital. Maybe there was another deputy, then? The mayor was there right away.”

                “She usually is,” Emma said dryly, and frowned at her notes. “Did you confess?”

                “Uh, yes. I don’t remember confessing, though. It’s written down in my file.”

                “You just don’t seem the type to set fires,” Emma said, trying to smile. Elaine shook her head.

                “I heard a man, crying for help. I had to let him out of the fire.” That part was very clear: as clear as anything that had ever happened that was _real_ , and that was a little scary.

                “You heard him, but set the fire after?” Elaine nodded, wondering why Emma was pressing the point.

                “Yes.”

                “And you don’t remember setting the fire?”

                “I remember holding the matches,” she replied, hands clutched together.

                “How could you hear a man in the fire if the fire wasn’t started yet?” Emma asked, calmly, and sipped from her cup of coffee. She had whipped cream and cinnamon on top. Elaine balled her fists up.

                “I saved him,” she insisted. “I know no one ever saw him, and he might not be real, but I saved him.” She sounded crazy, she knew it, and put her face in her hands. She had tried, while she was in the asylum, to remember it different ways, but this was the only way it had happened. “It was the shed right under the water tower, and there was someone trapped in the fire. I’m sorry; I can’t remember it very well!”

                She didn’t dare look up, because she had nearly shouted the last part, and the rest of the diner must be staring at her. It was a stupid idea to think that doing this in public would make her feel more normal about it.

                “Elaine,” Emma said softly. She didn’t look up, face burning. “No one’s staring, okay? Your man’s giving them all a death glare, and I’ll join him if you want me to.” Elaine removed her hands from her blotchy face, wiping away a few tears.

                “Nothing’s happened since then,” she insisted, though she had to whisper lest her voice break. “I am not a danger to my daughter.”

                “I don’t think you are,” Emma said firmly. “I haven’t been a mother as long as you, and I already know what that fear feels like.” She closed her file, glaring at it. “I’m trying to figure out why you were committed to the asylum instead of left to live on your own, when you couldn’t be tried, without a witness nor a clear memory of the event.”

                Elaine shrugged. She had never really thought about why she was locked up: she just was.

                “Isn’t that what happens to crazy people?” Emma scowled.

                “Not for the duration of their pregnancies, when they should have been released on parole or under supervision.” Elaine thought grimly, _there you have it._ No one would have been willing to ‘supervise’ her recovery. “This town is rotten.” She stood up, draining her coffee. “Thanks for talking to me.” Elaine nodded as the other woman marched off, and Gold slid into the booth next to her, passing her Rose without comment. Holding her daughter made her feel better, and she perched Rose on her hip, letting her push her lion against Elaine’s and Gold’s shoulders in turn.

                “Did she upset you?” Gold sounded grim.

                “Not really. Not on purpose.” Elaine paused as Ruby walked over, smiling fondly at Rose and managing to avoid eye contact with Gold and her.

 

                “What can I get you two?” she asked, smirking into her pad and pencil, and Gold started, actually flushing a little. Elaine wanted to lean her head against his shoulder, call him out on his discomfort, more suited to a teenager, but didn’t.

                “Hot chocolate?” she asked, flicking her eyes over to Gold. He nodded.

                “Two, please. And an order of fries.” Ruby muttered something into her paper about ‘you’d think the richest man in town could afford to buy something nice for his girlfriend’ and then gave them a wide smile.

                “Coming right up!” she promised, and marched off, Gold glaring at her back all the while.

                “So,” Elaine continued, and he turned, distracted. “I mentioned to Emma that I ate the apples Regina gave me before I got sick…do you think they might have been spoiled?” Gold seemed more pleased by this news than he should be, practically purring as he leaned back and let Rose crawl into his lap.

                “Spoiled? I doubt it. Our mayor is an excellent cook.” There was some dark, private amusement in his eyes, but Elaine didn’t press further. If he wanted to make things hard for Regina, she couldn’t quite find it in herself to stop him, when the woman had so forcefully accused her.

                Ruby came by with the hot chocolates and fries, and Elaine carefully took some out to cool, tearing them into small pieces for Rose. Gold sipped carefully on his, avoiding a froth on his lip, and Elaine smiled to herself, amused. He had a baby in his lap, wrinkling his immaculate suit and drooling a little, yet he didn’t want a hot chocolate mustache. The fries were good, with just the right amount of salt, and Elaine ate more than her fair share, considering he’d asked for them.

                They walked back to his house—their house, perhaps, in spirit if not in name—afterwards, Rose turning fussy at being put in the stroller instead of carried.

                “You’re spoiled,” Elaine chided, fondly. Gold looked ready to pick her up again, but Elaine knew that if they walked a little longer, she would fall asleep in there, and she needed a nap. Sure enough, an extra circling of his block had the desired effect, and they went in through the garage, Elaine moving her into the kitchen to continue her nap without trying to move her into her crib.

                Cooking next to Gold felt oddly, almost uncomfortably domestic, and she didn’t speak much until they had something baking in the oven for dinner later. She retreated to the table, watching Rose with one eye, and Gold sat down next to her, looking pensive.

                “Thank you for holding me that night,” he said abruptly. “I was glad not to be alone.” Elaine butted her head gently against his shoulder, and took his hand.

                “You’re welcome,” she said. She didn’t want to cry again, not even the odd, helpless tears that sometimes overcame her when she thought about him and his son and them and Rose, so she tapped him on the end of the nose and smiled. “Did you sleep better?” She kept her voice as cheerful and clinical as she could.

                “Yes,” he said, looking puzzled. Elaine stood up under the pretense of checking the oven, though the shepherd’s pie in question was far from cooked through. She needed to be brave for this part, and she couldn’t look at him while she spoke.

                “Well, maybe you should share my bed, and then you’ll sleep better.” She clenched a dish towel between her hands, biting her lip, and turned halfway around. “I might.” She couldn’t quite see his face, and he wasn’t talking. “Just to sleep,” she added, voice wavering.

                “If you’re sure,” he said. She nodded firmly. She was sure, for some reason: she trusted him, these days, and she was tired of sleeping in an empty room.

                “I am,” she said. “But—come into my room?” His bed, even such a long time later, would be strange.

                She slept in a narrow bed in her apartment, so she wasn’t even close to crowded with Gold on the queen-size mattress that night. He came in after she got under the covers, in an undershirt and pajama pants, still leaning on his cane. He got into bed with care, and she wondered if his knee hurt more than usual. Perhaps he was carrying Rose too much. Perhaps he was only nervous.

                He sank down next to her with a sigh, and switched off the lamp on the nightstand. For a few seconds, Elaine’s heart pounded, because she hadn’t ever been in bed with anyone but him, and they had never just gone to sleep. But she made herself relax, and stopped angling her body away from him. Her eyes adjusted slowly to the dark, and she saw that he was lying on his side, facing her, eyes unreadable in the gloom.

                “Are you all right?” he asked, softly, and Elaine gusted out a sigh.

                “I am now,” she said. She heard him trace circles on the sheets with a finger.

                “Could I hold you?” His voice was hesitant, and neither pleading nor assuming. Just a question. In response, Elaine rolled over, close to him, so that her back pressed against his chest. His arm slipped around her waist, his hand ending over her shirt, on her ribs. She felt warmer than his hold warranted, with his breath moving her hair and his body warm against hers, but she was sleepy from the day, and it felt more nice than it did arousing, so she slipped asleep easily, untroubled.

                It became part of their routine the next few days, and the third day, Elaine was sitting with Rose, when the thought struck her that this arrangement, for all that it felt tenuous and temporary, didn’t need to be. They could just stay here.

                It seemed too easy: after all that had happened, to just have things work out? Unlikely. She would lose it again, or Gold would snap and throw her out—no. It was no good to think like that. It was just temporary, until they discussed it. She had no excuse not to think about it, though: she wasn’t sick anymore. She had to decide on her plan.

                Elaine had never been good at planning, or thinking about more than one thing at a time. It was easier not to think ahead, to tomorrow’s worries, and just get through things slowly. Now she was out of practice at getting through things, with Gold helping her with Rose and food and space and everything.

                She was hopeful that Emma seemed interested in figuring out her incarceration, and Gold seemed pleased about this too, though she knew that the search for Kathryn Nolan’s kidnapper was more important. So when she heard that their new sheriff was leaving, over her fight with Regina, she slumped into her seat at Granny’s and tuned out the rest of Dr. Hopper’s words. He was mumbling about how she was doing it for Henry, but all Elaine could think was that now, Storybrooke would be back to normal, with everything under Regina’s thumb. She remembered, shifting Rose from her right arm to her left, Jefferson’s anguish and hope that things would be different. He would be disappointed: hopefully he would do nothing more than return to his usual manic depressive state, after getting his hopes up.

                She went back to the house with Rose, feeling even more discouraged. She liked Emma Swan, liked the differences she made. Gold had found her since Emma arrived: it wasn’t because of her, but still, the thought of losing the woman who had told her frankly not to worry about giving birth in a psych ward, she’d done it in prison, was not a happy thought.

                She went so far as to call Gold at his shop and relay the news. To her surprise, he didn’t sound upset, though he disliked Regina as much or more than anybody.

                “I doubt she’ll be gone for long,” was all he said. “I think I may be a bit late, tonight.”

                “Okay,” Elaine said, uncertain. “I’ll wait to eat, then.”

                “Thank you, love,” he sounded quite fervent in his last word, and Elaine went to sit on the couch, worried about their future, Rose’s future, and Emma’s departure.

                She read Rose several of the cardboard books Gold had procured, ending with a new story about her favorite lizard and hare. She liked them for the fuzz of the hare and the smooth, nubby paper for the lizard’s scales that were built into the pages, and this one was new, without half the hairs missing.

                “Mama’s never had time to worry about anything before,” she said gloomily. “I don’t think a life of even relative leisure suits me well.” Gold had someone clean his house: they hadn’t been in since she arrived, but if she was going to stay, she would have to have him stop that. She would contribute.

                The afternoon passed quietly in the house, Elaine taking Rose outside to put her toes in the dirt of the back garden for a while, then bringing her in for a bath when she heard sirens go by outside.

                “I hope everyone’s okay,” she said, scrubbing soil from under her daughter’s fingernails. “These need a trim.” Rose shrieked in the way she did when amused, then slapped the surface of the bath, splashing water onto Elaine’s arms and shoulders.

                Rose was sleepy, and playing fitfully with her lion and bear on the living room floor, when Elaine felt something strike her right in the back and move through her whole body: a heavy, blunt purple wave, that made her dizzy and sent her to her hands and knees on the floor.

                She lay down flat on her stomach as her head spun, then splintered like a kicked window.

                Belle winced: the realization of exactly who she was had only taken a moment, but she felt tremendously exhausted, and strange. The dizziness was gone as if it had never been, and she sat up, sweeping Rose into a hug.

                “Oh, sweetheart,” she said, choking back a few tears. She had been with her the whole time, but not _her_. Elaine French had raised Rose. She stood, Rose still in her arms, and bundled her again into her stroller, heading with fast steps toward the pawnshop. That was where Rumpelstiltskin was.

                She would give him a piece of her mind, she thought, though he’d heard it from Elaine. He remembered: the look on his face when he saw Rose was _his_ look, not Mr. Gold’s. Why hadn’t he come for her, though? Just a few hours, he’d called her love with such honest heat, she couldn’t doubt him.

                But Belle had wandered woods and paced a dungeon without a whisper from him to sustain her. She’d given birth in a snowstorm and managed—however long they’d been here. He knew, she was sure: the idea that he wouldn’t have the information regarding how they got here was absurd.

                The pawnshop was empty, and Belle plucked Rose from her stroller and placed her on her hip. He would be easy to find: she headed first toward city hall, in case he had decided to pick a fight with the queen in this non-magical world. She spotted his car parked down a side street, one that edged the woods. A glance at the ground, and her days of stalking the transformed Prince Philip through the mountains came rushing back. Rumpelstiltskin, with his cane, left a clear trail. His footsteps weren’t particularly heavy nor deep, but his walking stick left deep, circular imprints to his right, where all his weight rested.

                There was the beginning of a trail, and the further she went, the clearer it became, until she was only occasionally checking the path for his marks. Rose fussed, tugging Belle’s hair, and she hushed her, frantic with worry. What was he doing out here? Was he fleeing someone?

                No one but him had come this way: there were faint traces of other feet, in boots, but they were days old.

                “Rumpelstiltskin?” she called softly, walking up a rise. It was something of a good thing she hadn’t had Rose in the forest: navigating fallen tree limbs and roots and rocks was a challenge with a child in her arms.

                Forest gave way abruptly, to a shaded clearing, with a roofed well. Rumpelstiltskin, in this land’s skin and suit, stood before it, looking down. His back was to her, and she skidded forward, not going too close to the lip of the well with Rose in her arms.

                “What are you doing?” she asked, and he whirled around, just in time for Belle to see a purple cloud boil out of the well and envelop him. She choked on a shriek as it pushed forward, and held Rose close to her chest as it swirled around them, ducking her head. There was no magic in this land. At least, there shouldn’t be.

                “Belle,” Rumpelstiltskin said, and she raised her head to look at him, forcibly putting aside Elaine’s memories. They were real, but not real enough. The last time she had seen him, he’d ordered her out. She felt like the pregnant girl in the woods all over again, mourning the loss of love.

                “Rumpelstiltskin,” she returned, and jiggled Rose on her hip. “I remember.”

                “I’m sorry,” he said immediately, and took a halting step towards her. Belle felt Elaine’s hesitancy pluck at her, but she ignored it, and took a step of her own.

                “I love you,” she said, and wrapped one arm tightly around him when he took her in his. He smelled like Mr. Gold: pine and seagrass, but overlaid now with the windy, foggy smell of magic that always twined around Rumpelstiltskin. She breathed in deeply, relishing the hug, and felt a few tears on the top of her head. When she pulled away, she didn’t let go of his hand, and he looked humbled, confused and elated all at once.

                “And I love you,” he said, voice soft with strain. “Belle, why did you come back for me?” She blinked, trying to discover what he meant exactly by that question. “Why not take Rose and leave my house?”

                “I don’t want to be without you,” she said. “I’ve done it, enough times.” He winced, and his hold in her hand tightened a little.

                “I thought once you remembered, you wouldn’t forgive me. That Elaine’s love for Mr. Gold wasn’t the same as your love for me.” Belle watched as he touched Rose’s cheek, eyes sad and warm.

                “It’s stronger, maybe,” she said. “What magic were you doing?”

                “Bringing magic to this land,” he said easily, and led her down the start of the path. She frowned.

                “Why?” He leaned over her hand and kissed it.

                “Because magic is power.”

                That was a loaded sentence, but he had always had so many that Belle couldn’t make herself ask. He needed to know some things from her, in this moment. She told the story of her short adventure, her return home, her more serious time in the forest, and the queen’s imprisonment. He listened to it all without speaking, until she finished. She had been in her apartment in Storybrooke for who knew how long, and had no analogue to their land for it.

                “I knew it was Regina,” he spat. “I knew she must have done something to you, there: that’s what you remember as the hospital.” Belle frowned: the idea made her uncomfortable, that she’d never been to a place she remembered so vividly. The grey stones and white cinderblocks of her real and fake prisons were running together unpleasantly in her mind. “I’m sorry I didn’t come for you: I looked.” Belle shook her head, details returning.

                “The girl who brought my food said there was something on the door. I guessed it was magic.” His mouth curled up angrily.

                “I’ll take care of her, don’t worry.” His tone smacked of the sorcerer she’d been frightened of in the beginning, and she stopped walking, digging her heels in.

                “Rumpelstiltskin!” she chided. He turned to look at her. “You won’t kill anyone for me.” He narrowed his eyes.

                “What’s to stop me?” He gestured to Rose. “Are you going to take my daughter away from me?” His anger was hiding his fear as his voice rose. “She let me think you were dead! She could have killed you with the drugs in those apples! She endangered Rose!” She gripped his wildly gesturing hand and fixed her eyes on his.

                “Let her be dealt with as she deserves. We’re not the only ones to have been hurt by her.” She remembered the whispers of war and deposition and treason, from inside her cell. Regina had old enemies, and likely new as well. Rumpelstiltskin bowed his head, jaw working furiously.

                “Fine,” he growled at last. “But I’m not letting her near you. Not even close.”  Belle kept her voice as calm as she could.

                “It’s okay,” she soothed. “I just want you to be safe.” She bit her lip. “I want you to explain how we all got here, as well. I know you must have something to do with it.” Rumpelstiltskin reached out to tickle Rose, putting on an innocent face.

                “Me?” he said, and she poked him in his good side. “A little, perhaps.” He glanced sideways, uncertain about something. “It starts with a story I was supposed to tell you when you returned.” Belle nodded, and took his arm as a comfort.

                “Tell me about your son,” she said.

                Spring was turning the trees around them a brilliant, comforting green, and the path was just wide enough, stretching down before the three of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am not exceptionally pleased with this, to be honest. I am glad to have finished it, and thank you for sticking with it, but I hope that everything I write in the future will be plotted a lot more tightly than this.


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